


Before I Knew

by obscurum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Co-workers, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Multi, Personal Growth, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Burn, Trope Subversion, Tropes, a little more than minor hermione granger/anthony goldstein, draco malfoy & ginny weasley brotp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurum/pseuds/obscurum
Summary: He needs her name and status to climb his way back up the societal ladder, she needs his money and cunning nature to further her philanthropic ambitions. To get what they want they'll have to work together. [Dramione. Lots of fluff, a little drama, a dash of angst, and as many fun tropes as I can manage.]“Face it, Granger,” he said, his tone lower, “you need me.”Any sympathy she’d just gained for him vanished. “If you think for one—”“And—” he jumped, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob. “And I… need this.”





	1. Nothing if Not Punctual

**Author's Note:**

> [[All of the summary is still very much true, this is just a bit of warning; this is rapidly turning into an ensemble cast situation! And while I am enjoying it tremendously, I feel the need to point out that this means it's not solely a Dramione Romance powered fic. Dramione is still end game, but this is a character driven fic in which I will explore different people and relationships. It will still be lots of fun! I just don't want to misrepresent myself :)]]

Hermione yawned.

It was much too early to be thinking of sleep, she told herself, what with the workday still having over an hour left. And if she had any intentions on sticking with her plan to stay even later then she couldn’t afford to start yawning now.

Sitting up straight, she rolled her head from side to side, relaxing a little with each satisfying crack of her joints. She twisted in her chair, popping her back, and then commenced to pop her knuckles as well. It was a sick habit, she knew as much, and her mother never let up on her about it, but it was a habit she had no intention of breaking any time soon. It just felt good. Pushing her chair out, she stood to stretch her legs, then shook out her arms to help circulate her blood. She moved to the sideboard near her desk and poured out a glass of water. Feeling refreshed, she returned to her work.

Less an hour later there came a knock at the door, and before she could answer, it opened. “Offer still stands,” came the gruff, familiar voice.

“Answer still stands,” she replied flatly, not looking up from her writing. She heard him sigh and her quill stopped. She knew he was worried about her. He nearly always was. “Tomorrow,” she conceded, finally looking up at him. He raised a doubting eyebrow. “Harry, I promise,” Hermione assured, but he didn’t seemed convinced. She put down her quill and rounded the desk, trying to keep the aggravated sigh from rising in her throat. Knowing that Harry meant well didn’t make his constant hovering any less annoying. She took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Tomorrow, dinner, I promise. You can even invite whomever you’d like, make a thing of it if you want. That way I can’t cancel on you.”

Harry thought on her words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. She knew that smile, she did not like that smile. “Alright then, it’ll be a proper party. Ah ah—” he held a finger up at the sight of her face, knowing she was about to protest, “you just promised.”

“Okay, okay,” she mumbled, pushing him towards the threshold. “Tomorrow, after work.” Harry smiled.

“Hermione,” he said as she began to close the door. She stopped, waiting for him to continue. “Do me a favor, don’t stay here too late. Go home, get some sleep, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled at her friend. “Goodnight, Harry.” As his footsteps retreated down the hall, she returned to her desk only to stare at the many parchments that cluttered it. _Proper party?_ Why did she have to open her big mouth?

Sighing, she rubbed her eyes then glanced up at the clock on her wall. Her Ministry work day was officially over, and she could start on her other projects. She scoffed at herself as she rolled up the parchments and cleared off her desk. _Projects?_ As if they were some after school book report she was working on. She really should start giving herself a little more credit. In the three years she’d been out of school, and the two she’d been at the Ministry, she’d come a long way in her advocacy efforts. Sure she was nowhere near where she wanted to be, but she’d made some large strides nonetheless.

For example, she was especially proud of her work at Hogwarts. While retaking her final year, she worked closely with McGonagall in beginning to improve inter-house relations by mixing all four houses into classrooms as opposed to just two per period, creating multiple ‘common rooms’ throughout the castle in which students of any house may spend time, launching a myriad of extracurricular clubs, and putting together multiple events throughout the year such as dances and festivals. They had even made plans for a student exchange program.

Yes, she was extremely proud of her work at the school and was quick to pick up different causes as soon as she could after graduation. She started, of course, with the House Elves, and when that hit a big, red, bureaucratic wall she moved on to Lycanthropy rights. When that too was brought to a grinding halt she started working towards raising funds for an orphanage. (St. Mungos was on the brink of overrunning before the war and the strain due to its lack of resources only grew afterwards.) It was slow at the start, being just her and whichever of her friends she could coax into helping, but over time she began to amass volunteers and even a few employees. Things were gaining momentum, and if they happened to be doing so faster than she could keep up well, then she’d just have to adjust.

She looked down at the new parchments spread out in front of her and groaned. She’d have to adjust _quickly_.

“Alright,” she whispered, mentally preparing herself as she straightened up the bit of House Elf legislation in front of her. It had been sent back for revisements again, but, of course, only after having been held from her for months. She was starting to get dizzy with all of the back and forth they were putting her through. Was it really that hard to admit that living, sentient beings deserved a little respect and decency? “Of course they think fifteen Galleons a week is too much,” she mumbled, reading over the new marks on the page. “If you’re the type that has House Elves to begin with, then I’m sure that’s just pocket change!” She huffed and dipped her quill into the ink pot, scratching out the amendment and adding, ‘20!!!’ beneath it.

Some time later, another knock sounded. She let out a sharp exhale and looked at her clock, it was only seven. Harry would have to get it through his thick skull that seven wasn’t late for her. It was average. “I swear I will hex you into next week if you—” she started as she swung the door open, but her words wedged in her throat as she saw that this person was most definitely not Harry. She swallowed them back in exchange for a different one. “ _Malfoy_?”

He arched a perfectly blond eyebrow but his face remained, otherwise, unaffected. Though it was just as sharp, and pale, and cold as she remembered. His eyes were dark and unflinching, staring down at her with an intensity that chilled her bones. Her left foot stepped back, slowly moving her away from him. She saw his eyes flicker behind her, to her wand resting on her desk, and she was instantly aware of how vulnerable she was. She’d never been particularly afraid of him, never even a little threatened, but caught off guard, alone and wandless in her dimly lit office, she could admit to herself that she was at least a little concerned.

He blinked and in an instant seemed to take in her fear and pulled his arms behind him, averting his gaze as he took a small step back. It did little in the way of putting more space between them, but it was a gesture that Hermione understood. He was surrendering any higher ground he may have held, relenting the upper hand to her. Still, she reached for her wand before addressing him again.

“What are—I thought you were…” Or, try to address him again, anyway.

His chin lifted and his tone was short, and pained. “I _was_. I served my time, I’m out, and now I’d like to help.”

Hermione’s confusion overrode any fear and she stepped closer to him. “Help—help with _what_ , exactly?”

His lip twitched, as if he were fighting back a snarl, but he otherwise looked bored. “You know,” he drawled, waving a hand vaguely in the air around her.

Her eyes widened. “You want a job at the Ministry?” she asked, drawing her words out,looking about the office as she tried to make some sense out of his words. He had to know the Ministry would never hire _him_ , didn’t he?

He made a small noise that she only barely recognized as a chuckle. “Are you daft? No. No, of course not.” He gestured again, this time more at her than the room. “At your little… group… _thing_.” He hadn't even tried to hide his distaste.

The indignation rose in her chest as she moved even closer. “Little group thing?” she huffed, enunciating each word. “You show up uninvited to my office, call me daft and insult my work in the same breath, and then expect me to just _give_ you a job? Crawl back into your hole, Malfoy.” Hand on the door, she fully intended to slam it in right into his smug little face but with little more than a flash of a grimace he pushed his foot out, stopping the door in its tracks. Hermione’s eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke too quickly.

“The Creevey Foundation,” he acquiesced, his jaw flexing as his eyes fixed on a spot on the door, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Hermione’s heart dropped a little. When she’d named her advocacy group after one of the war’s most innocent of victims she thought it’d be a great memorial, and a good reminder of why she was doing what she was doing. But she, and quite a few others, found it hard to call the foundation by it’s given name. It dredged up too many horrible memories, and most everyone took to just calling it, ‘The Foundation’ in general conversation. Hearing that name come out of _his_ mouth was just… wrong. “You know the name of my foundation, congratulations. Now if you don’t mind—” She finished her sentence by slamming the door onto his foot, hoping she scuffed those over-priced leather shoes of his.

This time he put his hand on the door, and pushed against it. He locked eyes with her. “You are over nineteen hundred Galleons short on your werewolf rights fundraiser; you are nowhere near getting that Muggle building for your proposed orphanage; and you will need _actual_ offices if you continue to grow at the rate you are now.” He took a beat then, almost as an afterthought, added, “Merlin Granger, do you even have any idea as to what really goes on in getting a bill passed? Because if you are not willing to do _whatever_ it takes, then you can bid your precious House Elf reformation goodbye.”

Her nails dug into the door until her knuckles turned white. She’d half zoned out three seconds into his rant, staring at the floor behind him as her anger bubbled inside of her chest. All she heard was the voice of an old school bully listing off each and everyone of her failures. The words left his lips as objective observations on the current state of her affairs only to contort in the air and hit her ear as every self-doubt and self-criticism she'd ever had about herself.

_“You're over nineteen hundred Galleons short and don't think I've forgotten how ridiculously overgrown your teeth used to be.” “_

_You’re nowhere near getting that Muggle building just like you're nowhere near where you should be at this point in your life.” “_

_You'll need actual offices if you continue to grow and you need to learn how to make room for people in your life or else you'll end up alone forever.” “_

_...then you can bid your precious House Elf reformation goodbye.”_

His voice echoed, threw her from her thoughts as the realization hit her. He’d done his research. He hadn't just shown up at her door expecting a job, he'd come prepared. She was almost impressed. _No_ , she told herself. _So he’d done his research, so what?_ Did she really expect any less of him? It was probably how he knew she’d be here, alone in her office, long after most had gone home. The new knowledge, that he’d in all likelihood planned to corner her like this, made her even angrier. She was being manipulated and she would not stand for it.

She steeled herself and finally looked back, ready to unleash a fury on him. She was taken aback, though, when she saw his face. His features had softened, and his eyes were searching hers, the vehement hatred replaced with trepidation and a hint of… desperation? Suddenly he was less the smug, snotty bastard he’d been in their youth and more of the broken boy she’d seen running from the final battle.

“Face it, Granger,” he said, his tone lower, “you need me.”

Any sympathy she’d just gained for him vanished. “If you think for one—”

“And—” he jumped, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob. “And I… need this.”

Her hands went to her temples. She was much too tired, too overworked, to be dealing with him and his need for instant gratification.

“Please,” he added, and she knew he was working her. But she couldn’t deny that having Malfoy’s knowledge and, more importantly, his money, would help tremendously. But was it worth it? Wouldn’t it be like selling her soul? What she really needed was time to think.

“ _Fine_ ,” she conceded through her teeth. She could see his body sag every so slightly, like he was finally breathing. “My office, seven am sharp. If you are even one—”

“Granger, I am nothing if not punctual.”

“One _second_ late,” she stressed and over-enunciated each word to drive her point home, “then you will find somewhere else to absolve your conscience.” She punctuated the end of her sentence with a stomp to his foot, and when he drew it back in pain she slammed the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what had happened waaaas - i'm an idiot. the first three chapters of this are up on ffn but i kind of forgot about ao3 (for shame) so i'm going to post chapters 1-3 today, and then we'll be all caught up with the other one. 
> 
> basically, this story started of with a little drabble on my tumblr (nxrcissamxlfoy.tumblr.com - come chat!) and i couldn't stop thinking about it! so i started writing and here we are. my plan (plan? hah!) is to keep up a couple of chapters buffer between what i'm posting and what i'm writing. so like, right now i'm about 1k deep into chapter 8, and when i finish 8 i'll post 4. when i finish 9, i'll post 5, ect. so that way in case anything happens, depression strikes or some weird random super busy month, i'll still be able to post for you guys ^.^
> 
> anyway, i hope you like this story! enjoy the binge, and please please review? it means so much!!! <3333


	2. A Fair Chance

 Hermione waited until she was sure Malfoy was gone before gathering up her things and heading home. She knew she’d never be able to get any more work done with how frazzled she was. Frazzled, angry, tired, _confused_ —she was all over the place and she just wanted to go home.

Stepping out of her fireplace with a sigh and a roll of her shoulders, she dropped her bag onto the coffee table and headed towards the kitchen, straight for the bottle of wine that’d been waiting for her all week. It was only Thursday, and she normally waited until Friday to open a bottle, but her current situation more than called for the early drink. She opened it to let it aerate, then went to her desk to fetch out a pen and some paper. A proper muggle pen and paper. She may have to continue subjugating herself to quill and parchment at work, but at home was a different story.  

Two hours and three glasses of wine later and she had before her a messy, frustrating list of the pros and cons of hiring Draco Malfoy, complete with arrows between the two sides and a half dozen strikethroughs. If she were just looking at the number of items on each side, the cons far outweighed the pros. However, she was loathe to admit that were she to add weighted values to each item, the pros would have it rather handedly.

With the list complete, she downed a fourth glass of wine as she reluctantly accepted what she had to do, and then poured a fifth. She was nearly finished with the bottle. Crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the bin, she stood to head to her room, ready to get the next day done and over with so that she could, no doubt, wallow in regret for the rest of her life.

The next morning was a bit of a blur. She snoozed her alarm one too many times and had to rush through her morning routine in the fog of a small hangover. She skipped her morning meal and opted for a piece of dry toast, scarfing it down on the way to the fireplace, hoping that her sweater hadn’t caught any noticeable number of crumbs.

She rushed through the nearly empty halls of the Ministry, her hair bouncing wildly around her and parchment hanging dangerously out of her bag. She may have been late by her standards, but she had still beaten most everyone else there by half an hour. So when she rounded the corner of the hall to her office, she nearly jumped out of her skin to see someone by her door.

Not just someone— _Malfoy._

He was standing, still as a marble statue, right next to her office door, holding two paper to-go cups. He hadn't seen her yet, and, once she’d settled back into her skin, she watched him with curiosity. His attention didn't appear to be fixed on anything in particular, but his brows were pulled together and eyes were darting about, as if he were trying to solve a math problem on a blackboard that wasn't there.

She took a few steps closer and made her presence known. His eyes snapped to her and a tiny smirk pulled at his lips. Her curiosity vanished and she was huffy again.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” she demanded when she was close enough.

His smugness only grew. “Well, I seem to recall that you were quite concerned about my punctuality, so I thought I'd play it safe. Coffee?” He held out one of the cups as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The sigh she let out was almost a growl, and if she hadn't skipped her morning coffee she would have just marched right past him and into her office. As it were, she _had_ skipped it, and the smell drifting from the opening in the plastic lid was much too enticing. Without a word she snatched the cup from his hand and touched her wand to the doorknob, slamming the door behind her and in his face.

He was going to be insufferable.

* * *

 Draco scoffed at her childishness and reached for the door. It was locked, but at his twist of the handle, the small, frosted glass window on the door shimmered and words began to spell themselves out below her name and title.

_Please return during office hours: 8am to 1pm._

_Have a nice day!_

He flexed his fingers and clenched his fist as his eyes rolled towards the ceiling.

She was going to be insufferable.

He took a seat in the wooden chair next to her door and inhaled deeply, trying to calm his angry itch. He did his best to avoid eye contact with the witches and wizards who were slowly filing in to begin their work day, many of whom exchanged hushed whispers with each other as they passed by, but none of which had the guts or gall to actually say anything to him.

He kept his posture perfectly poised, and kept telling himself that soon all of that nonsense would be over with, and that the whispers would change their tune from their current scathing outrage and back into the hushed tones of fear and respect he’d grown up with.

Two of the major conditions of his release from Azkaban were that he give a substantial chunk of the Malfoy fortunes to charity; and that he do actual, physical work on anything aimed at the betterment of wizarding society. “ _You will have to contribute to society for once, Mr. Malfoy,”_ Minister Shacklebolt had said at his release, a slightly smug and patronizing tone to his voice, “ _instead of merely leeching and manipulating it.”_

Thankfully, he’d been given generous parameters. Anything he gave to or worked towards, so long as it was good and helped others, would be acceptable. With that rubric he could have donated to St. Mungo’s, or Hogwarts, or even the Ministry itself, and he could have easily picked any number of organizations to give his time to; hell, he could have even started his _own_. And he would have, he would have done anything else rather than give Hermione Granger a single thought—that is, if fulfilling his probationary duties were his _only_ concern.

As it were, Draco had other goals, and he'd strategized and calculated and revised until he had a very clear and concise plan on just how to achieve them most efficiently. After all, he had nothing but time in Azkaban, and keeping his mind at work was what saved him his sanity. He was going to do much more than what the court required; he was going to clear his name, clear the Malfoy name, and rebuild his family from the ground up, back into what it was before that bastard Voldemort was even born. The Malfoys had always been right there, right behind the power, guiding it with a gentle, yet effortlessly persuasive hand. In time they would be there again, and Granger was the key.

First, there was the matter of her official War Heroine status. Even three years post-war, her words and opinions, her _influence_ , held tremendous weight with the public and with many prominent members of society. If he could get her seal of approval, and do so publically at that, everything else would begin to fall neatly into place.

Next, there was the matter of her blood status. He knew he could never clear his name without publically ridding himself of his prejudices, and what better way to do so than working side by side with the Muggleborn Princess herself? Of course, he wouldn't be _completely_ fabricating his renunciation. His belief system began falling apart before his eyes years ago, and while he wasn't about to run out and _marry_ a Muggle (or a Muggleborn for that matter) he could at least concede that a wizard was a wizard was a wizard.

Finally, there was their less than amicable history together. He could convince everyone that he no longer held any sordid pureblood ideals, and he could even get Granger’s “He’s-No-Longer-A-Threat-To-Society” stamp, but if he was to ever truly take back the power his family once had, he was going to have to show people true, _personal_ growth. Just the thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Why the public cared about such things was beyond him. So long as public figures kept to their word, what did it matter what their personal lives were like?

There was a click and the door next to him cracked open. The clock down the hall read seven and the cold cup in his hands was proof that he'd really sat there for twenty minutes. He set a warming charm to his drink, straightened his waistcoat, pulled his shoulders back, and entered her office with his head held high.

The office was brighter than it had been the night before, with more lamps on and a bigger light hanging overhead. A bookcase lined the right wall, reaching all the way to the ceiling and full to the brim. He couldn't be sure, as he hadn't gotten a good look before, but he thought that she may have even straightened them up. There were two armchairs in front of her desk, overstuffed ones upholstered in wool that felt warm and inviting, and a fragrant plant next to them that brightened the room. It was almost as though she was purposely encouraging people to feel comfortable here, to _stay._

“Please, have a seat,” she greeted, her tone steady, cheerful even. She finished what she was writing and looked up at him, a small, perfectly polite smile on her face. Her hair was now pulled back into a neat bun and he wondered about the lengths she went to in order to tame it. She motioned at the chairs in front of her, urging him to sit.

He sat, and opened his mouth to speak, but she clapped her hands together and cut him off. “So, Mr. Malfoy, why is it that you wish to work for The Creevy Foundation?”

Trying, and failing, to hide his amusement, he leaned back into the chair and tented his fingers, his elbows resting on either arm. “Is that what you did last night? Sat in front of your mirror and practiced speaking to me as if I were anyone else applying for a position? Told yourself I was no different than any other witch or wizard that walked through your doors?”

She blinked, and he thought for a moment that she might snap. Instead, she inhaled deeply, straightened her spine, and widened her smile. “I assure you, Malfoy, that I need no practice in thinking that you’re just like anyone else. I was simply trying to extend a bit of respect so that we could start our professional relationship off on solid ground. However, it seems that you are wholly uninterested in providing me the same courtesy, and as such I am left with no choice but to ask you to please vacate my office and seek employment _elsewhere_.”

He studied her face, her eyes stared through him, her smile painted on, her brows slightly raised and waiting for a response. Were the tables turned, he was sure he’d be furious by now and yet there she was, the picture of a calm sea. She cleared her throat, a small and polite noise, and glanced at the door behind him. Her smile twitched, reaching just a bit more towards her eyes. His silence was _amusing_ her.

The woman was infuriating.

He knew he’d have to make nice, that she wouldn’t make anything easy, but actually having to go through with it was a different story. Was he supposed to grovel? Malfoy’s didn’t _grovel_ , not historically anyway. How was he to restore the power behind his name if he had to start off doing so on his knees? What sort of precedent would that set? He realized just how hard he’d been grinding his teeth and stopped, finally swallowing back enough of his pride to speak. “I would like to work for your foundation,” he began, slowly, painfully, while holding direct eye contact, “as it appears to be the only such organization with realistic goals about issues it can actually change, as opposed to chasing a vague, niche, idealistic dream.” He paused as she leaned forward onto her elbow, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. She raised an eyebrow at him, beseeching him to continue. “Furthermore,” he said between closed teeth. He took a breath, determined to get through the rest of his speech as unmoved as she was. He had to regain some semblance of dignity. “The causes under its banner are for things our community has a great need of. I am particularly interested in the orphanage, as I have seen first hand just how ill equipped St. Mungo’s is for the amount of children it currently holds.”

He’d hoped to surprise her with his research, as he’d done the night before, and in doing so take back some of the emotional high ground she’d gained. But she remained unaffected and he knew what he had to do. He let out an exhale and slouched, leaning forward on her desk, finally breaking away from her gaze and lowering his eyes. “Look, Granger,” he says, his voice low and disgustingly defeated, “we both know why I’ve come to you.”

 A small huff of a laugh left her lips as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Because working for Muggleborn War Hero Hermione Granger will clear your name the fastest?”

 That was it. If he ever thought he could work like this he’d been wrong. He stood, the chair screeching against the hardwood floor behind him. “I don't need this,” he muttered, reaching into his waistcoat to pull out his last resort. “I can’t imagine why I ever thought you would be the one to give me a fair chance,” he spat, dropping a worn, folded piece of parchment on her desk. He took a quick moment to register the shock and dejected look on her face before turning to leave.

He'd nearly reached the door when he heard her stand. She sighed and he smiled.

“You’ll have to start at an entry position,” she began, and he stopped but didn’t turn around, “seeing as how you have no references or tangible experience, you understand.” Despite the tension he felt in the air, her tone was casual, almost as if she were speaking to herself while working on something else. “I supposed, though, with enough time and effort you’ll have no problems rising through the ranks. Whatever the pay is won’t be nearly what you’re used to but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Turning his head, he saw that she’d resumed sitting and was shuffling through the papers on her desk. “Also, keep in mind that you will have someone to answer to, as well as a code of conduct to abide by, both in and out of the office.”

_Out of the office?_ Was she to tell him what to do with his own time? He opened his mouth to speak but she kept going.

“I will not tolerate insubordination, please be sure of that.”

He couldn’t stop the small chuckle that formed in his throat, and at the sound of it her head snapped up, her gaze boring right into him.

“You were correct in one thing, Malfoy. I _will_ give you a fair chance, but it would behoove you to know that I am surely the only one who would do so. Now, either you can throw this opportunity into the garbage along with your reputation and never darken my doorstep again—” Her words turned to venom in the air, but when she continued, after taking a deep breath, they turned pleasant if not contrived. “—or, turn around and express your sincere gratitude and then return Monday morning at exactly eight a.m.”

He was sure he would never forgive himself for what he was about to do, but he swallowed anyway, drew himself up to his full height, and turned on his heels. He took some small amount of pleasure in her surprise at how genuine his smile appeared, and took even more so as her face faltered at the softening of his eyes. “Thank you for this opportunity, Ms. Granger,” he said, even bowing a little for effect. “I greatly anticipate our work together and look forward to seeing you bright and early Monday morning. Best wishes for the rest of your day.” He bowed again and then swiftly left her office.

Outside of her door his face dropped back into its resting scowl and his fists clenched in on themselves. If he had to put on that ridiculous farce—and, in return, suffer through _her’s_ —for the remainder of their working relationship, he was sure one of them wouldn’t make it out alive. A young witch shuffled by, glancing at him from the side of her eye. He returned a much colder stare and she quickened her pace. He stole a look back at the door behind him and took it as a small victory that the window now read:

_Office hours ended for the day._

_Please return Monday, 8am_

 


	3. A Whole Thing

“Say _something_ ,” Hermione urged, her guilt mounting with each second Ginny remained silent.

After Malfoy left, she’d tried her hardest to stay on task and continue with her work but with her mind racing to second guess itself, and that damned letter taunting her, it was nearly impossible to concentrate. So, she left for lunch and afterwards flooed to Ginny’s instead of returning to her office, where she knew Harry would still be at work. She also knew that Ginny would spare her a lecture.

“Oh, I have so many questions,” Ginny gushed. She stood up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. “But first, you need a drink.”

“Gin, I—I don’t need a drink!” Hermione called, but she heard Ginny going through cabinets in the kitchen anyway.

“Well _I_ sure do,” Ginny said, walking back into the living room with two glasses and a bottle of Firewhiskey in hand. She set the cups on the coffee table and opened the bottle.

“Ginny!” Hermione protested as Ginny poured the amber liquid into both glasses, but Ginny just held one out to her and kept it there until Hermione took it. Hermione sighed, but took a sip anyway, and winced as it hit her tongue. She never was big on whiskey. Ginny sipped hers as well and, after a moment of silence, finally looked to Hermione.

“What’s in the letter?”

“ _That’s_ your first question?” Hermione asked, setting her drink down on the far side of the end table.

Ginny shrugged. “Whatever it is, it got you to hire _Malfoy_ so it has to be something good.”

“You're incorrigible,” Hermione groaned, but she reached down and pulled the parchment from her bag and tossed it to the sofa cushion next to Ginny.

Ginny reached for it but looked to Hermione for extra confirmation. Hermione nodded her on, reaching for her glass, and watched as her friend unfolded the creased and faded parchment.

She'd examined it in her office after Malfoy left, and was surprised to see that it appeared to have been folded and unfolded many times, and that some of the words on the edges, where one might hold the paper, were faded. He'd read it, and he'd read it a _lot_.

“Dear Malfoy _,”_ Ginny began.  

Hermione groaned. Having anyone know she'd even written the letter was embarrassing enough, but hearing it read aloud was just mortifying. “Don't read it out _loud_!” But Ginny kept reading, and Hermione, despite her previous intentions, took another drink.

She’d started seeing a therapist after the war in the hopes of quelling the nightmares that left her twitching and coated in sweat, and of finding some small respite from edge her nerves always seemed to be set on. She couldn't necessarily tell the whole truth of her situation, of course, but she'd spent enough time molding the truth for her parents that it came to her easily enough in therapy. Her sessions were tense and awkward in the beginning but over time she could definitely feel a difference. The nightmares grew farther apart and she became less and less anxious throughout the day, so when her therapist suggested she write letters to those who wronged her, who she felt she could ever forgive, she put some serious thought into it and ultimately decided to do it.

When she finally did it, Malfoy was among the first she wrote to, being the one she'd had the most history with. And, up until that very morning, she'd had no ideas if he’d ever even received it, let alone read it.

“I _forgive_ you?” Ginny asked, incredulously repeating the last line of the letter. Her hands dropped into her lap, revealing her astonished expression. “You forgave him?”

“I didn't do it for him!” Hermione defended, snatching the letter back. “I did it for me. My therapist said it would help.”

“ _Therapist,_ ” Ginny scoffed into her glass. She'd long since made her opinions on muggle therapy known.

“And it _did_. I didn't really think it would, but it did.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I haven't thought about it in nearly two years and now—”

“—now it’s come back to bite you in the arse,” Ginny completed, with more crass than Hermione would have. Ginny finished her drink. “Was he the only person you wrote to?” she asked, leaning for the bottle to pour another drink.

“No,” Hermione answered. Ginny held out the bottle, asking her if she’d like another as well, but Hermione shook her head. She waited for Ginny to ask a follow up question, to ask for names or further explanation, but she didn’t and that’s what Hermione loved about her. Ginny was infinitely nosey, that was beyond denying, but she wasn’t a prier, not where it mattered anyway.

“So what position did you hire him for?” Ginny asked after a small bout of silence.

Hermione shrugged. “You know we don't really have positions, people just go where they're needed.” She paused, thinking of everything on the foundation’s to-do list. “He did seem keen on the orphanage though.”

Ginny laughed into her glass, almost choking on her whiskey. “Malfoy?” she managed, after setting her glass down. “Working with _children_?”

“I don't know that I'd let him around the children but if he wanted to procure and set up the building, I wouldn't be opposed to it.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Hermione replayed the morning over in her head, for what she was sure at least the tenth time, and sighed. “I know what he's doing, why he came to me,” she ranted. “He thinks I don't, but I do!”

“It looks better!” Ginny chimed.

“It looks _amazing;_ him overcoming his prejudice to work side by side with a woman he's hated for years. Skeeter will devour it!”

“He's probably already got her in his pocket,” Ginny mumbled. Hermione nodded, holding up her hand in agreement. “And you're okay with all of this?”

“Well I'm okay with all of that Malfoy wealth he'll be throwing at us.”

Ginny laughed. “This is all so… _mad_.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands. “Oh it is, isn't it,” she whined into them, then shot a pitiful look at Ginny. “I am too, aren't I?”

“Well, I won't argue there.” Ginny smirked and Hermione swatted at her.

“Shut up!” Hermione defend but she was smiling along with her friend. She watched as Ginny finished her second drink. “You should probably slow down,” she commented.

Ginny shrugged. “It's Friday. And besides, we are having a party tonight.”

Hermione threw her head back and groaned. She knew it. She knew it, she knew it, she knew it. Harry, as always, had gone over board. “How many people?”

“You know, if you'd have just come to dinner last night—”

“ _Ginny_.”

“A lot. Everyone, and then some.”

“Everyone?”

She knew that Ginny understood her question. Did “everyone” include Ron? Ginny nodded and Hermione sighed.

“Alright then,” she said, then reached for her empty glass and pointedly set it down in front of the whiskey bottle.

By the time Harry got home the girls were a box of giggles, and he found them in the bedroom going through Ginny’s clothes.

“Harry!” Ginny greeted, a wide smile on her face. “What do you think?” she asked, holding her hand out to Hermione, who was wearing a multicolored striped skirt with a midriff bearing bright floral top.

“Uh…” he started. The outfit was jarring, to say the least, but he didn’t want to anger the two scariest women in his life. “It um—”

The girls broke into laughter. “It’s hideous!” Hermione managed. Ginny, in her fit of giggles, ushered him out of the room. Dazed, but relieved, he headed towards the kitchen. Eventually they emerged from the room, Hermione in her own jeans with Ginny's brown boots and a strappy, wine colored, silk top; and Ginny in a navy halter with high rise jeans and black, wedged booties. All in all, they were much better looks than before.

“You know this was nearly full when I left this morning, yeah?” Harry asked, holding up the almost half empty bottle of Firewhiskey.

“You know Hermione hired Malfoy this morning, yeah?” Ginny asked, mimicking his tone. Hermione smacked her in the arm as Harry gawked at her.

“You what!?”

Hermione scoffed. “Yes, it was a whole _thing_ , and it’s done. I don’t really wanna talk about it right now.” She pushed past Harry and went for the cupboards. “Is there going to be any food at your party?”

“Yeah.” Ginny answered. “Harry, you called in the pizza, right?”

Harry nodded and Hermione shrugged, accepting that she’d have to wait for food. “Ron’s picking it up on his way in,” Harry said.

Hermione sighed, grabbed the bottle, and headed for the living room.

It had been just over six months since their break-up, and things were still very much awkward, not to mention painful. Their break-up had been amicable enough, with both of them agreeing that they weren't really working out and that breaking up as friends was better that staying together until they were enemies. The problem with that, they quickly learned, was that they both still loved and cared for each other, and that made seeing one another on a regular basis that much more complicated. So, Hermione proposed and imposed an embargo on any and all communications, creating a clean break and giving them time to heal and move on.

That embargo was slowly starting to come to an end, mainly because it was driving their friends mad. The last time Harry had tried to invite them both to the same dinner Hermione ended up leaving early shortly after Ron mentioned something about a date. She knew she'd have to get over it sometime, and that she and Ron would eventually have to pick their friendship back up, but it hurt, and was still too hard.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan showed up before Ron did, and Hermione was thankful for the extra buffer they provided. Then, right as it seemed she would have no choice but to actually speak with him (as opposed to just speaking in the same group) half of Ginny's Holyhead Harpies teammates arrived, and afterwards others continued streaming in at a steady pace.

An hour passed before Hermione found herself unintentionally sitting next to Ron, though she was just drunk enough to _not_ instantly run away. 

“Hi,” he said softly, awkwardly shifting his weight.

Hermione twisted her glass in her hands. “Hey.”

“S’good party, huh?”

She nodded, mumbling an agreement. She bit her lip and winced at herself. It all felt so wrong, being this uncomfortable with him, when it had once been so natural to sit next to him, cozied up under his arm.

He shifted again and she fought the urge to lean into him, like she used to do with ease.

“Hermione,” he started, the trepidation in his tone stiffening her muscles. He was going to bring up something she most definitely didn't want to talk about. Why couldn't he just keep to small talk? She recrossed her legs and looked to him. “Do you think we'll ever get back to normal?”

She swallowed and sighed. “I hope so.”

His shoulders dropped and his gaze fell to his lap and she could see his jaw flex and his lips tighten. She knew that look, the feeling in the air around them; heartache and disappointment. 

Almost as if it had a mind of its own, her hand reached out to wrap around his. “Hey,” she said softly. “We _will_.” He gave her a weak smile, she squeezed his hand and dipped her head to pick up his gaze. His fingers wrapped around hers, as though he were clinging to a memory. Before she knew it he was leaning down and she—she wasn't moving away. 

A part of her yearned to meet his kiss, to feel his hand on the back of her neck and to sink into his chest, to feel _normal_ again. Yet as she felt her chest rising, and her head tilting upwards, and that familiar burning in her stomach, all of their old fights came flooding to the front of her mind; the long nights, the tears, her throat raw and her body aching, the hopelessness and wondering how long before they had the exact same fight over again, the stagnation of it all. It wouldn’t work, it would never work.

She pulled away, and avoided the heartbreaking look in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Ron mumbled something sharp and biting, then quickly left the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. Running her hands over her face, she let out a little groan, then finished her drink in one gulp. She rounded the sofa only to then realize that the drinks were in the kitchen… with Ron. Rubbing the back of her neck, she looked around and spotted Anthony Goldstein by the bookcase, the only one alone in the living room.

“Hey,” she greeted. He jumped a little, startled by her sudden presence, but smiled just the same.

“Hey!” he replied. “How’s it go—”

But Hermione reached for the beer bottle in his hand. “Do you mind if i just—” Before he could protest she took his half empty beer and drank it as fast as she could. He made a noise like he was going to speak, but didn’t say a word until she put the bottle down, breathing harder than normal.

“Are you alright?”

She shook her head. “Sorry,” she breathed, handing him back bottle.

He eyed her with concern for a moment. “It’s okay. I’m going to go get another, would you like one?”

“Thank you,” she said, for both the beer and his unwillingness to pry. He nodded and soon he was back with two newly opened bottles.

“So, how are things with The Foundation?” he asked, “How’s the student exchange program going out at Hogwarts?”

Hermione welcomed the distraction and jumped at the chance to talk with him about the program. They had a few schools, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Koldovstoretz, who were interested in participating but reluctant to actually facilitate anything. There were a lot of logistics to work out; the application process, how to vet the students, travel issues, how to accommodate the students, the list was several feet long. “Of course the biggest issue is how to work around each school’s curriculum. This School is behind That One in Potions but ahead of it in Charms. That School is— and I'm talking too much, aren't I? I'm sorry, I do that.”

Anthony reached out to touch her arm. “No, no, it's okay. It's interesting, really.”

“I'm rambling, but thanks. You're sweet.” She patted his hand. He shrugged and smiled, something lopsided but wholly genuine that pried a smile out of her as well. She took a quick glance around the room and noticed Ron in the dining room, sitting and chatting with one of Ginny’s teammate’s friends. Marigold something? Hermione couldn't remember, but she was tall and slender with gorgeous honey colored hair and she was laughing at whatever Ron said.

“Would you like another drink?” she asked, turning back to Anthony. She heard that laugh again, high and charming. “Maybe something a little stronger?”

“Oh I don't know, Hermione,” he started but she waved him off and headed toward the kitchen.

“It's a party, live a little!” she called over her shoulder.

* * *

 

The room was bright and her head was pounding. The bed was too firm and the duvet was the wrong material. She opened her throbbing eyes and looked to the left where her alarm clock should be, but instead found a small stack of books on an end table that was too dark of a wood to be hers. She tried to sit up but, as the room was still spinning, she quickly decided against it.

A muffled groan came from the other side of the bed and her eyes grew wide at the implication. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, turned her head to the right, and peeked out from under her lashes just enough to see a patch of sunny blonde hair sticking out from the covers.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” she groaned, barely audible. He shifted next to her and the blanket fell below his shoulder. Anthony Goldstein had a _tattoo_? She looked closer, her dread and regret momentarily eclipsed by curiosity. She'd never seen a wizarding tattoo before. It was an astronomical diagram, a planetary system full of twinkling stars. She watched it move for a moment and wondered if the planets were orbiting at a properly scaled time. He shifted again and she was thrown back into the moment at hand. She tried to remember how it all happened she as slowly and carefully shifted out of the bed.

She'd gotten them another drink, vodka, and they scanned Harry and Ginny's bookshelf for a while. Another drink and they ended up outside, lying in the dewy grass and looking up at the sky. That's when it got blurry. There was laughing and… hand holding? Kissing, there was definitely kissing and—oh God had she actually straddled him in Ginny's back yard?

She located her underwear and her pants but her shirt was nowhere to be found. She spotted his shirt on the floor and grabbed it, pulling it over her head as she headed for the spiral staircase. Down in the living room she picked up her pace and found her bra and boots near the sofa. She made to apparate out but realized she was missing her wand.

“Shit!” She looked around and her heart swelled when she saw it on the table by the door. With a moderate crack she was gone, instantly in her own living room, trying so very hard _not_ to freak out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnd now we're all caught up! hopefully chapter four will post next week, at worst it should post the week after. but i plan on getting much further with 8 today, so all signs are pointing to next week. 
> 
> i hope you're liking it so far. as tagged, this is a slow burn, just not one full of pain and heartache. it's also enemies to FRIENDS to lovers, so we have a long way to go folks. i also plan on spending some time developing other characters and playing around with them because, well, it's fun! and i'm hoping it'll be fun for yall too :)
> 
> please pleaaaase review, it makes me all giddy inside when you do ;D


	4. Unexpected Yet Undeniably Fun

Monday morning was unusually warm and bright for March, which only added to Draco’s complete and utter dread.

Knowing what he _had_ to do didn't mean that he _wanted_ to do it. But, he was a Malfoy- so he straightened his spine, fixed a confident yet otherwise unaffected expression on his face, and stepped into the floo. He came out of the other end from the fireplace closest to Granger’s office and kept his head high as he rounded the corner into the correct hall. Stopping in front of the door he checked his watch; he was over half an hour early and there didn't seem to be any sign of the witch being in her office.

“What, no coffee today?” came a sarcastic yet light voice behind him. His spine stiffened and his skin pricked. She was too cheerful and it was too early to be fighting away this much irritation. Nevertheless, he forced a polite smile and turned to face her.

“Good morning, Miss Granger.”

Her her eye twitched. “Please call—” she faltered for just a split second, “—just drop the Miss, yeah?” She moved passed him to open the door and he followed her in, internally debating the merits of continuing to call her Miss Granger regardless. It obviously annoyed her, but if he played up the “raised with manners” angle and insisted on it, he could then drop it later as a concessional trade, to leverage something out of her. He tucked the thought away and shut the door behind him.

“And look,” she continued, heaving her bag onto her desk, “I know you were trying to prove a point, showing up early the other day, but I get it okay? You don't need to keep _this_ up.” She gestured to him and went about shuffling through the sheets of paper and parchment on her desk.

He watched her for a moment, wondering if she’d always been this scattered. In school it always appeared as though she had everything together, but the woman before him was frazzled and unorganized, and nothing at all like what he’d pictured she’d turn out like. He cleared his throat. “While I do admit to being a bit derisive Friday morning, my punctuality is something I do take extremely seriously and I’m afraid that your tendency to arrive over-early is something I share.”

She paused and looked for a moment as though she was struggling to employ restraint. Knowing that he could crawl under her skin so effortlessly made the fact that she could do the same to him much more bearable. “Well if that’s the case then you should go back to bringing coffee.” There was a marked difference in her tone, she’d been much more casual just moments ago and yet at the slightest ruffle of her feathers she resorted to a more formal and clipped attitude. He fought a cocky smile as she brought the parchments together into a haphazard pile and finally pulled up her chair.

“Right, so that’ll be your desk, at least for this week.” she said, pointing towards the corner of the room. Draco glanced back, making no effort to hide his distaste for the small desk and minimal chair. “My assistant is out on holiday until Friday and I hate to admit it but, I’m useless without him. You’ll be a poor substitute, as I doubt anyone could effectively take his place, but I’m sure you’ll do well enough and it’ll give me time to figure out where to put you.”

“I’m to be your _assistant_?” he asked, incredulous. This was not what he had in mind at all, it was certainly not a part of his plan.

“Yes,” she snapped, then continued coolly, “You, like everyone else who has come to work for the Foundation, will also be subject a one month probationary period, during which I can terminate your employment at _any_ time for _any_ reason.” She leveled her eyes at him, daring him to say anything else. He did the only thing he could do, bite his tongue, contort his face into a tight smile, and nod.

Granger accepted his acknowledgement and turned her attention back to her desk. “There’s a calendar on his desk, and there should be a schedule for the week in the top drawer. Please familiarize yourself with them.”

He turned and stepped towards the desk. It was smaller than hers, but still had plenty of space. The chair, however, looked like a torture device. “Could I—” he started, but cleared his throat to rid himself of his drawl. “Could I at least change the chair?”

There was a moment of silence and he worried that she might be boring a glare into his back, but then she answered. “As long as everything is exactly how you found it when he gets back, I see no harm in that.” He heard the clink of a quill dipping into an ink pot, and then scribbling. He pulled his wand from its holster and gestured with it, transfiguring the hard wooden chair into a high-backed and upholstered leather one.

He recognized almost nothing on the desk, and yet it all looked vaguely familiar, like distorted dream versions of things he knew. The calendar, instead of being written out on a stretched out roll of parchment attached to the wall, was a giant pad of starched, white parchment, that took up almost the entirety of the desk and looked like it had never been rolled up at all. He flipped through the bottom of it, holding the paper with the tips of his fingers, and found that every page was uniform, it all looked exactly the same, only the dates were different.

Next to the calendar wasn’t a cup of quills, but of plastic muggle pens (that much he knew) and in the drawers were more muggle things that he had no words for; a black metal rectangle hinged to a flat base, a pack of metal coils twisted into a stretched out spiral, more muggle pens in red and black and blue, and some sort of handheld device with a small window at the top, a thin slice of paper protruding from the side, and button keys like that of a typewriter.

It was that device he was holding up and turning about when he heard a snicker from Granger’s direction. His eyes flickered to her, a frown on his face. “Think this is funny, do you?”

“A little, yes.” She stood and moved toward him, opening the drawer he had been going through. He pushed his chair back and she pretended not to notice. “This is a stapler, it attaches multiple pieces of paper together.” She pulled out a pad of lined, yellow paper from the bottom of the drawer and demonstrated. Draco was more than a bit taken aback. It was clever, yes, but didn’t it ruin the document? What if you wanted to separate the two later on?

“These are paper clips, they also hold papers together, but it’s more temporary. See?” She slid the clip on to a few sheets of paper, and then off again. “These are rubber bands, for holding other stuff together. Like…” she looked around then spotted the pens and pulled out three of them. “Like this.” She stopped for a moment, looking at the pens with an amused expression on her face and Draco couldn’t help but wonder how daft she thought he was for not knowing what any of this stuff was.

“It’s funny, we have a lot of things for holding other things together,” she mused with a chuckle. She shrugged a little and her eyes moved to the device in his hands. “And that is a label maker,” she said, then held out her hand. Draco tentatively handed it over. _Label_ maker?

She flipped it around in her hands, so that the buttons were at her fingertips and the screen was facing him, _pointing_ at him. He was struck with a pang of fear. If that thing created labels, what would it label him as? _Coward? Traitor?_ Something even worse? She began pushing the buttons and he stood, sending his chair rolling backwards.

“That’s alright!” he said, hoping that his voice had stayed level and his terror hidden. “I understand the concept.”

She eyed him, eyebrow raised and head pushed back a little. “I’m not sure that you do,” she said slowly. The machine whirred and the slip of paper sticking out of the side began to move. He swallowed as she ripped the paper off, and peeled something from it.

Then, quicker than he could respond, she held it out to him.

“See?” She chirped, letting go of it as he took it. He pulled it back, a bit to afraid to look. But there it was, a small, white piece of paper that simply read, _‘Draco’_. “You just type out what you want to label on here, and it prints it out on a sticker.”

She closed one drawer and opened another and pulled out something thick and leather, like a book. She dropped it on the desk and flipped back the top of it. “This is a binder,” she said, wiggling the cover. Inside was more of the starchy white paper, all full of words and boxes and schedules. “Here.” She flipped through the paper until she came to one full of boxes. Upon closer inspection it looked very much like their old school schedules. “My appointments for the week, any deadlines or mile markers in any projects. It’s color coded and please, try to keep your handwriting neat if you have to add anything.”

Draco scoffed. “Granger, I can assure you that my penmanship is impeccable.” He ignored her eye roll and took the binder from her hands. “I suppose you’ll want me to use one of those Muggle pens?” He nodded towards the cup.

“It would be neater,” she said, finally leaving his desk. “But if you’re more comfortable with a quill then you can have one of mine.”

_I’ll have one of my own,_ he thought bitingly, making a mental note to bring his the next day.

“Or your own, I suppose.” She sat in her chair and his heart froze. Was she a legilimens? Could she actually read his mind? If she could, then that would change the whole game. He instantly shielded his mind, and eyed her carefully. She picked her quill up and continued working on the same parchment as before, and seemed blissfully unaware of what she’d just done to him.

Still skeptical, he summoned a quill from her desk, and an inkpot. “How is it your assistant uses all of these Muggle things and yet you’re still working with quill and parchment?”

She sighed and shook her head, as though this were something she’d struggled with for a long time. “I use Muggle technology when I can, but most of my work is _official_ and _official_ things need to be done in the _official_ manner and—” she stopped, preventing herself from getting too riled up, and took a breath. “It’s tradition,” she finished, the word bitter in her mouth.

Draco made a hum of acknowledgement, and then, as an afterthought, “There’s nothing inherently wrong with tradition.”

“There _is_ when it impedes growth.” Her words were sharp and authoritative, and the phrase ‘probationary period’ echoed in his brain so he decided to come back to the matter when he had a more secure position. _True_ tradition, tradition where it _matters_ , would actually facilitate growth, and if she ever stepped off of her high horse she’d see that.

Instead of debating the issue, he turned his attention to the schedule. She had a meeting at ten with—he squinted—not with, about. She had meeting at ten _about_ Centaur classification status. She had another at one about—no, this one just listed a name—a meeting at half past one _with_ a Terry; no surname, no indication of the nature of the appointment, just Terry.

For a brief moment he allowed his emotions to show on his face. There was already so much wrong with this. For one, a _proper_ appointment should list time, who, why, and, if needed, where. For another, Centaur classification status? They were self imposed _beasts_ , what more to it was there? Finally, what in Merlin’s name was her appointment with _Terry_ about?

It was maddening.

He twisted his wrist, looking down at his watch. It was only just nearing eight am. It was going to be an excruciatingly long day. He flipped the page in the binder, studying the next day’s schedule. It was lacked just as much internal logic as the first page, with one meeting marked with a name, another with _‘Doxies’_ , and a third with just _‘LG’_. This was the work of the assistant she’d “be lost without”?

At nine o’clock there was a knock at the door and Hermione didn't even flinch. He looked to the door, then back to her to find that she was staring at him expectantly.

“Oh, am I to answer your door as well?”

“Only if you'd like to keep your job.”

She went back to scribbling away while he stood and, holding back a sigh, opened the door. It was a small girl in robes of pastel green trimmed with white. “Delivery, for Hermione Granger!” she chirped, and it was then he noticed the small prickly plant in her hands. The girl held it out for him and when he took it she reached into her pocket and handed him a folded letter. She bounded off before he could say anything.

“Cheerful little biddie,” he mumbled bitterly while shutting the door. “For you,” he said, and unceremoniously set the cactus and letter onto her desk. He could feel her eyes glaring at him as he made his way back to his desk.

 

* * *

 

Hermione rolled her eyes as he sat down and resisted the urge to scold him. It would just seem petty and he would only enjoy getting a rise out of her. Instead she picked up the letter and looked at the blue wax seal. It was simple, just a circle with the initials ‘AG’ in the center. She eyed the cactus and broke the seal, vaguely aware of Malfoy watching her from the corner.

_Hermione,_

_Friday night was highly unexpected yet undeniably fun. I was hoping to see you again sometime, maybe for lunch on Tuesday? There's this Muggle bistro that just opened up around the corner from the Leaky that I've been meaning to try._

_Looking forward to your reply,_

_Anthony_

_P.S. I hope you like the cactus. I didn't take you for the flower type._

She read it over again and, despite herself, had to suppress a small smile. It was sweet, and the cactus was adorably unconventional. However, it was the word ‘lunch’ that amused her. In her mind, it could mean one of two things. Either he had no intentions of pursuing anything more with her and planned to let her down easy (which, if she were being honest, was more than she was planning on doing), or he _did_ want to pursue something more serious and lunch was a way of conveying that he wanted to spend time with her without the connotation of something more physical. She liked Anthony, she did. He was handsome, funny, and smart, he was a good man; but she didn’t feel any sort of real connection with him.

She bit her lip, and instead of replying, tucked the letter under the cactus. She'd have to reply later.

Ginny burst through her door shortly after noon. “Hermione Jean Granger, you absolute _minx_!” she screeched, slamming the door behind her.

Both Hermione and Draco jumped.

“Ginny!” Hermione scolded, hoping to God she wasn't blushing. For some reason, Malfoy knowing her middle name felt insanely personal and she wasn't too fond of the idea. It was made clear to her in all her years of reading Muggle literature that names had power, and now he knew hers in full.

Ginny pulled a face, pulling her lips back across her teeth, and looked to the corner where Draco sat. “Oh, right, Malfoy. _Weird_.” She turned back to Hermione, reverting to her previous excited state as if he wasn’t there. She'd walked around the desk and grabbed Hermione by the hand. “You have to tell me what happened! Lunch, now, let's go!”

“ _Ginny!_ ” Hermione pulled her hand back and ignored the horrified look on Malfoy’s face. “We have a lunch date tomorrow, I will tell you _then_.”

Ginny frowned, and from the corner came the sound of shuffling paper.

“Oh,” Malfoy mumbled, then looked up as if he hadn't meant to speak out loud. “Uh, there's just—” he started when he saw they were staring at him, and pointed to the schedule, “LG, lunch, Ginny. I—” He clamped his mouth shut and cleared his throat, suddenly finding immense interest in the schedule.

Ginny looked back to Hermione with a pouty look. “Please, I can't wait that long. _Please_!”

Hermione’s eyes darted to the letter under the plant. She would have had to cancel with Ginny anyway if she wanted to meet Anthony for lunch. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Alright,” she relented, and Ginny’s smile grew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awww yay, well there you have it. plenty of workplace shenanigans. also, if you haven't caught on, it's going to be a slow burn folks, with more than a few bumps in the road. love is a messy process. 
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed it, and please please do me a solid and leave a review if you did! any old thing will do <3


	5. Just Peachy

“Tell me absolutely _everything_!”

The two witches sat at a window table in their favourite lunch spot, and Hermione waited until their server left before leaning forward. “First off, can you try not _shouting_? I don’t need the whole restaurant to know my business.” Ginny held up a concessional hand, a silent apology. “Second off, how’d you even manage to find out?”

“Well,” Ginny said, then took a drink of her water as if she would need hydration for the absolutely _arduous_ conversation ahead, “you should know by now that you can’t keep anything from me.”

“I wasn’t exactly trying to _keep_ it from you,” Hermione mumbled, but Ginny continued.          

“But I heard it from Michael Corner and—”

Hermione brought her hand down onto the table, launching partway out of her chair. “He _told_ Michael?!"

“Oi, what happened to your shouting policy?”

Hermione looked around but the restaurant was already fairly loud, and no one seemed to be looking at her. “I can’t believe he just… told someone about it. Like he was bragging, or something!” 

“Will you _please_ pipe down? It wasn’t _like_ that. I ran into Corner this morning, and asked him how he had liked the party and he said that it would have been better if Anthony hadn’t ditched him for, ‘some bird’,” Ginny explained, using emotive air quotes. Their server showed up with a basket of warm bread and the girls thanked him, waiting until he was gone to continue their conversation. “He didn’t know it was you. But _then_ —”, she paused dramatically, as if presenting an exposé, “I remembered seeing you and Anthony chatting by the bookcase and at that time I thought, ‘well how nice, they’re catching up’ and I assumed it was completely innocent because… well, because it was _you_.” 

“Hey,” Hermione chided, picking at her roll. Her protest was half-hearted as she had, after all, surprised herself that night, too. 

“And then Saturday morning, I stopped by your flat to bring you the things that you left at mine, and you weren’t there. I thought you were getting breakfast or in a bookstore or something. But you weren’t _,_ were you?” Her smile stretched across her face, like the cat that had gotten the cream, and Hermione blushed. “You were snoozing, safe, sound, and, presumably, _satisfied_.” She gave Hermione a wink, eliciting a faint pink blush.  

“Ginny you’re the worst,” Hermione said, playfully tossing a bit of bread at her, and Ginny just giggled as she caught it out of the air. _Quidditch reflexes be damned_.

“So,” Ginny prodded, leaning towards Hermione, “your turn. Out with it. Every steamy, gory detail.”

“I am _not_ giving you details!” Her blush became brighter, she could feel it in her cheeks.

“Bloody hell, Hermione! You were with my brother for so long and I never wanted _those_ details.”

Hermione’s face fell and she stared at her glass. “We almost kissed that night, your brother and I,” she mumbled. Ginny was quiet for a brief moment, her energy disrupted.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “he told me.”

“That’s… that’s kind of the catalyst for what happened with Anthony,” Hermione said. Ginny perked up a little and Hermione sighed, then told her the whole story. Of course, she left out any details that felt a little too personal, much to Ginny’s dismay. Their food came and they were halfway done before she finished the story. “And now he wants to have lunch tomorrow.”

“Oh… _lunch_ ,” Ginny sucked air in through her teeth, eliciting a low whistle. “Dreadful. That means, ‘thanks but let’s not have it happen again’.”

“Good,” Hermione mumbled. “Can we please just talk about something else now?” She pushed what was left of her food around on her plate, feeling a little defeated. “How’s practice going?”

Ginny chewed and swallowed. “Good, good. I mean, I'm all-ache-all-the-time but it's so, _so_ worth it. This might really be our season.

“You say that like you guys have ever had a bad season.”

“Yeah but we haven't had a _great_ one. I'm talking finals, maybe even the championship. Gwen’s come up with this amazing play that I think will really help get us there, give us a bit of a leg up, you know?” Ginny wiped her mouth and noticed the glazed-over look in her friend’s eyes. She knew that Hermione would listen to her talk for hours even though she had absolutely no interest in quidditch. “Enough shop talk, how about you? How’s that lycanthropy rights fundraiser going?”

Hermione sighed and pushed her plate away. “It’s—I mean, it's _going_.”

“Well what's wrong? Would it help if Harry and made another donation—”

“No, Ginny, no. You guys have given _more_ than enough.” Ginny opened her mouth to protest but Hermione held her hand up. “ _Besides_ , it's not even really a money issue. It’s a lack of awareness. It doesn't matter how much money we raise if the people recoil in horror anytime anyone says the word werewolf.”

Ginny popped a bite into her mouth and sat back, waiting for the rant she knew was to come.

“I mean—no one even talks about how far the Wolfsbane potion has come! They don’t know, they don’t want to know and if—if they don’t want to know _that_ then they’ll never care about how much _farther_ it could go with the proper research! It’s absurd! It’s… it’s willful ignorance and it’s appalling. These are good witches and wizards and people just don’t _care_!”

Hermione finally noticed the amused look on her friends face and sighed. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Oh stop, you act like I didn’t know this would happen when I asked the question. You’re right though, people want nothing to do with it. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to change that. You always find a way. You’re the unflappable Hermione Granger.”

Hermione forced a smile. “Yeah, I’ll find a way eventually.”

Except that she had yet to find a way for _anything_ since graduating. Everything worked out fine while she was still at school, but in the three years that she’d been out she’d yet to actually finish anything she started. She had a dozen unfinished projects, countless late nights at the office, a stress-induced migraine that never quite dissipates, and nothing to show for it.

She noticed that Ginny had started up with quidditch again, and smiled at just the right time.

* * *

 

Hermione returned to her office mentally and emotionally exhausted. She leaned against the door after closing it and let out a deep sigh, relieved.

“I don’t know how you made it through lunch,” came an annoyed drawl, and she jumped. She’d forgotten all about Malfoy. “She exhausted me in ten seconds.”

“Did you stay here the entire lunch break?” she asked, suddenly hyper-aware of just how strange it was for Draco Malfoy to be alone in her office. It wasn't like there was much in there for him to find but it still felt like some sort of gross violation of her privacy.

“I wasn't hungry,” he replied, his tone clipped. He laid a piece of parchment onto the desk, turned it to face her, and pushed it forward. She walked towards his desk to inspect it. “I have a few questions if I'm expected to make sense of this schedule. For instance—” he pointed to a line on the page with the end of a muggle pen. She tried not to gawk at the sight and he pretended not to notice her noticing it. “—you have a meeting with a Terry today, at half past one. Terry who? What's the appointment for? And here—” he moved the pen down, “—tomorrow, this just says ‘Doxies’. I'm working with incomplete information here and it's quite frustrating.”

She slid the paper off the desk. “Yeah, Dennis has his own system. I’ll sort this out.”

“Oh, and a woman from the DMLE stopped by, I wrote her name down.” He shuffled through some papers until he found a small slip and handed it to her. It was written in ballpoint pen. “She said it was something about a crossover case. And Longbottom was here too, he was barely able to let me know that he'd just come back.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him in a silent warning, but didn't say anything, turning instead to go to her desk.

“Neither one of them had appointments,” Malfoy stated after a brief silence, but then waited as if he'd asked a question.

“No,” Hermione said, not looking up from the schedule she was translating. Terry Boot, one-thirty, Charms Professor apprenticeship interview. She could feel Malfoy’s indignation filling the air.

“Is that a common occurrence?” he asked, his tone more stressed.

She hid her smile. “It _is_ why I have open office hours, where anyone can pop in.”

“That's highly inefficient.”

“It's highly flexible, which works to the benefit of a lot of people. It also leaves me the second half of the day to work entirely uninterrupted.”

“Yes but—”

“ _Here_ ,” she said, holding up the complete schedule, “copy this over if you'd like. And when you're done I'll need you to run a few things down to the Notary for me.”

Draco took the paper but didn’t move. “The, uh, Notary?”

“Yes. The Notary. Level Five? It’s not Ministry business, so you’ll need to ask for Florence when you walk through the door.”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

* * *

 He didn’t know which was more infuriating, the stares or the whispers. At least early in the morning the halls were mostly empty, but in the middle of the day they were abuzz with people, and they were all staring and whispering and pointing.

There was one witch in the lift, who promptly averted her eyes and left upon his entering. He took a deep breath, straining to keep any biting comments to himself. Instead he simply reached for the gate.

“Hold it, please!” Someone called out, clearly not having realized who it was in the lift.

Draco looked up to see a scruffy, shaggy, and bespectacled wizard jogging towards him. The man took a few more steps and Draco realized with dread who it was. Regrettably, he pulled the gate back.

“Thanks,” he breathed, stepping onto the lift. He ran his hands through his hair and smiled at Draco. “Near empty lift, that almost never happens.”

“Potter,” Draco greeted in a curt, but not _technically_ unkind, tone. Even after all these years, the tension in his voice came naturally when dealing with Potter.

“Which floor?” Harry asked, nodding towards the buttons and levers in front of him, completely unphased.

“Five,” Draco responded through his teeth.

“Oh yeah? Me too.” Harry pressed the proper button and grabbed a hold of the handrail.

The lift lurched back and up and Draco grabbed the handle hanging from the ceiling, biting down on his teeth and willing himself to disappear.

“So,” Harry started, as casually as he would if he were talking to his pet Weasley. “How are you?”

Draco kept his gaze on the gate and his lips nearly motionless. “Fine.”

Harry nodded and the lift came to a stop. Draco was quick to pull back the gate and step out.

“How’s your first day been, then?” Harry continued, jogging a few steps to catch up to him.

Draco clenched his fists. “Also _fine_.”

Harry was walking beside him now, his strides matching up with his own, and Draco tried to ignore him. He noticed that while people were still whispering, the atmosphere seemed different; less scathing and more atwitter. They were paying more attention to ‘The Boy Who Lived’ than to him.

“How’s it going with Hermione?” Harry asked, either unaware or unbothered by Draco’s blatant indifference for him. Draco picked up his pace, but Harry kept up.

“Still. Fine,” he snapped.

Harry let out a little laugh, completely disregarding Draco’s obvious sarcasm. “Yeah, just give it some time. When she gets comfortable with you she can get a bit, eh, well, bossy.”

Draco exhaled out of his nose. “And here I was under the impression that bossy was simply her default state.” Draco could see the door to the Notary department, it was only several meters away.

Harry chuckled, almost as if he were surprised with Draco’s humor. “Uh, yeah, I suppose it can be. Of course, I’d have never made it through school if it wasn’t for her bossy tendencies. To be honest, mate, I—”

Draco stopped abruptly and spun on his heels, causing Harry to almost crash into him. “Let’s get one thing straight, Potter. We are not _mates_. We never have been, and we never will be. Now, is there some reason for this little escort bit or can I continue with my business unfettered?”

Harry’s affable and cordial face hardened into something bordering on terrifying and his eyes narrowed at Draco. “I haven’t spoken with Hermione yet, about exactly _why_ she thought it was a good idea to hire you, but she did and I will be the last person to question her judgement.” He paused, took a breath and swallowed. “What I need from _you_ —is to not make her regret it.”

Draco held his eye contact and straightened his back, drawing himself up to his full height, giving him just barely an inch over Harry. “Is that a threat?”

Harry looked him over, from his eyes to his feet and up again, then smiled, his jovial face returning with the blink of an eye. He shrugged. “Nah, more of a request, really.” He turned his back and began to walk away, heading for the Auror office. “Have fun on your walk back,” he called over his shoulder.

Draco resisted the urge to draw his wand and curse Harry on the spot and instead took a deep breath and turned back towards the Notary department. There was a wizard just inside the door.

“I’m looking for Florence?”

The man pointed. “Down the hall, second on the right.”

Draco nodded, and headed in the right direction. The door was marked with a small nameplate reading Florence Fleetwood. He knocked, and received a gruff answer.

“Mrs. Fleetwood?” he asked, opening the door.

“Florence, please. Come in, come in.” She waved him in and he shut the door behind him. She was a plump older witch with a mass of black curls piled on top of her head and her office was small and filled with books and rolls of parchment, her desk was cluttered and littered quills and wax and stamps. “What can I do you for?”

Draco stepped forward, somewhat unsure of how to react to such a casual demeanor in the workplace.

“I have some documents here, from Hermione Granger,” he said, somewhat tentatively, and pulled out the parchments from his coat pocket.

“Ah, yes, yes! I’ve been expecting these.” She held her hand out and took the papers. “Great girl, that Miss Granger,” she said, flipping through the papers, giving them a cursory scan. “It's great work she's doing too.” She pulled out a stamp from a drawer and put a warming charm on her wax. “Hopefully one day soon she'll get one of these things up and running. Good luck to ya!” She handed him the freshly stamped and notarized papers and flashed a smile.

  
He bowed a thank you and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! chapter five yall! ginny was so much fun to write in this one, and so was harry. like, scruffy auror harry is my jam. for reference, think of dev patel in lion. actually for a lot of character refs you can look through my 'bik' tag on my tumblr and see the little edits i've made for each chapter, each with different, relevant characters portrayed. anyway, as always, thank you guys so much for all your love and support!! your favs and follows give me joy, and your reviews give me so much inspiration and motivation! i'm currently writing chapter nine and i am so excited about it yall. two words. spring fling. ahhh it's going to be so cute!


	6. We're Ridiculous

It was Tuesday morning, and on Tuesday mornings the Malfoys had crêpes for breakfast; sweet, never savory. Draco could smell them from his room as he woke and dressed for the day, and followed their strawberry scent down the stairs and through the ground floor of the Cottage.

"Good morning, Mother," he greeted, walking into the dining room. His mother, still in her silk pajamas and heavy dressing gown, looked up from the paper and gave the faint, weak smile he'd grown accustomed too since his release. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, bringing a napkin into his lap. Moments later a House Elf shuffled in with a fresh plate of crêpes and a warm cup of tea.

"Did you sleep well, darling?" Narcissa asked, folding up the paper and pushing to the side.

Draco nodded as he sipped his tea. "Yes. It's a bit cooler here than it was in the Manor; makes for a more comfortable night." He cut into his food. The first thing his mother did after the war was abandon the Manor in favor of their summer cottage. Any happy memories of her husband or son that it held were overridden with the vile imprint Voldemort left upon it, and she couldn't bare to stay in such a large, empty home alone. The Cottage was less half the size of the Manor but Draco actually found some comfort in it, knowing he was always just a short sprint away from his mother if the need ever arose.

Narcissa made a hum of agreement. "It is a nice change," she added, then took the smallest bite she could.

Draco watched her as she ate her breakfast. Her lethargic movements could easily be mistaken for a gentle gracefulness by a lesser trained eye, but Draco knew better. She was a shell of a woman, no matter how flawless her facade was. From that point breakfast was a quiet affair and he left before the Elves even cleared the table. In the parlor he pulled on his coat and reached for the floo powder, then thought better of it. With a flick of his wand and a faint pop he disapparated. A second later he was in the alley of a cafe situated just a block away from a Ministry phone booth.

It was warm inside the cafe, and crowded, and for a moment he wondered if irritating Granger was worth waiting in the line behind a gaggle of overdressed, giggling muggle girls. Then he thought of the smile she'd be forced to put on and of the aggravation in her voice when she'd have to thank him and he smirked to himself and took his place in line.

The Ministry was just as empty as it had been the previous morning, and he was not surprised to see the light on behind her door. He wondered if he should knock, but only for a moment before he just reached for the handle and pushed. She was behind her desk, scribbling away on a slip of parchment, and hardly noticed his entrance. She jumped when he set her coffee down on the corner of her desk. "Oh!" she gasped, hand to her chest. Draco almost smiled. "Oh," she repeated, only softer and with the realization that he'd brought her coffee. "Thank you," she said, and he could detect nothing but sincerity in her voice. No anger or resentment, just a genuine thank you as she reached for the cup and took a whiff.

She was good.

He'd known she was clever, but he'd thought it was all in books and education. However, she was proving to be quite adept at mind games and manipulation as now he was the one left with the anger and resentment, and had no choice but to respond in kind.

"Not at all," he managed, his aggravation buried deep in his throat. He adjusted his tie as he walked to his desk, and proceed to check the day's activities.

He looked up to ask a question but stopped and watched her for a moment as she seemingly obliviously took a big drink from the cup and closed her eyes as she swallowed. Draco's back straightened ever so slightly as the thought ghosted around in the back of his mind that she might have actually been genuinely grateful, that she might truly have been unawares of the game he was playing. He averted his eyes, a pang of something he wasn't ever likely to admit stinging his chest. Then his jaw tightened and he clenched his fist. Oh, she really was good. She'd almost made him feel  _guilty_.

"This lunch with Weasley," he snapped, not trying to mask his animosity, "does it still stand or am I to assume your little outing yesterday took it's place?"

"Oh, no," she replied, waving a hand but not actually looking up, "I won't be meeting Ginny today. However I do have other lunch plans." She finally stopped writing and looked over to him, trepidation colouring her features. "You… should make plans as well. I'd like to lock up the office when I leave."

His eyes narrowed at her. He knew she didn't trust him, he didn't think she'd be so brazen about it. "Of course," he grumbled.

She went back to her work, and he fetched out a piece of parchment for himself. He wrote a short letter to Theo asking him to lunch and requesting that he respond only if he cannot make it. He also then penned a short, curt letter to his father and sealed it with a Ministry stamp. He stood and stopped in front of her desk. "I've got to drop a few things off in the post," he drawled. "Have you anything?"

She ignored his obvious lack of enthusiasm. "Oh yes, just here." She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a few folded and stamped letters, which he took and promptly left with.

There were more stares and whispers as he made his way through the Ministry but this time he was much too irritated to care. He still couldn't decide if her oblivious chipper attitude had been a ruse or her genuine nature. It could have easily been either and the ambiguity was clawing at him. The rest of the morning dragged on uneventfully, as his patience was much too thin to engage her further. It exasperated him just to watch her go about her work as though their situation were perfectly ordinary. When the lunch hour finally drew near, he was all too eager to follow her out of the door. Without a word he made his way to the lifts and out of the Ministry.

"Good afternoon sir," the maître d' greeted, not looking up from his quill and reservation book. "May I have your name?"

Draco bit back a scathing comment and instead just cleared his throat. The man finally looked up and his face dropped. "So sorry, Mr. Malfoy," he bowed. "Right this way." He was led to a table by the window, where Theodore was already seated. The maître d' took his coat and pulled out his chair, then reached for the napkin on the table.

"I've got it," Draco snapped, snatching the cloth from his hands.

"Rough morning?" Theo commented as the man left.

Draco sighed and narrowed his eyes at his friend, admonishing him for his humor. "You have no idea. Granger is insufferable."

Theo's smile widened. "Ah yes, Granger. You know, I'm quite curious as to why it is you decided that working for her was a viable option."

They both nodded off the waitress as she brought them their water. "You know damn well why it's my  _only_ option." Draco replied after she'd taken their order.

Theo exhaled dramatically. "Yes, but it would be so entertaining to hear you explain it."

"I didn't invite you to lunch so you could mock me, Nott."

"No, of course not. That's a service I offer for free."

Draco couldn't help but crack a reluctant smile. "You're an arse."

"Thank you," Theo respond, a hand on his chest. The two of them laughed.

"So, any word from Pansy?"

Theo shook his head. "Not for a month now, and her last letter was quite short. She's 'fine' and she'll 'come back when she's ready'. What about Blaise?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Living it up in… Brazil, now, I think." Theo shook his head again, but this time out of incredulity. "Oh," Draco added, "and, in his last letter, he had the gall to condemn Pansy for running away."

Theo laughed. "Just because he claims to be 'on holiday' doesn't mean he's not running away as well."

"My thoughts exactly, though I knew it wouldn't do any good to call him out on it. He's much too arrogant." Just then their waitress appeared with their appetizers and drinks.

* * *

 

Hermione watched as Malfoy retreated down the hall and turned back to charm her office door locked.

She showed up at the Leaky Cauldron ten minutes early because, well, she was always at least ten minutes early, and she was more than prepared to wait. As it were, she rounded the corner to come face to face with Anthony. They shared a laugh at themselves and he greeted her with a hug. "So, where is this place?" Hermione asked once they were on the Muggle side of the Leaky.

He smiled down at her. "Just around the corner there," he replied, pointing to the end of the block. The place was small, just an uninspiring hole in the wall that served soup and sandwiches, but Anthony insisted that he'd heard a lot of good things about so Hermione pushed back her trepidation and followed him through the door.

Their server was friendly enough and after spending a few moments going over the menu she ordered a croque monsieur and he got the roast beef.

"I'm trusting you on this place," she said as the server left with their order.

"That's entirely too much pressure," Anthony responded with a smile.

And then there was silence. As amiable as they'd just been, neither could deny the mutual tension hanging over them as they danced around what was sure to be an uncomfortable discussion. Their server brought over their drinks and they thanked her.

"So," Hermione began, hands wrapped around her cold glass of water. "How's your week been so far?"

Anthony smiled. "Uh, good, good. The hospital is always a little crazy, but nothing out of the ordinary. How about you? Your week going well?"

Hermione let out a nervous laugh. "A little crazy to be honest. There've been quite a few changes to my routine."

"Change can be a good thing though, can't it?" Anthony leaned forward with his forearms on the table and his hands clasped together, an amused look on his face.

Hermione smiled but shifted in her seat and hoped she wasn't blushing. She couldn't tell if he was just making good conversation or insinuating something more. He'd been one of the changes to her routine, and she didn't want to make him feel bad, but she also didn't want to lead him on. She'd never really been in this situation before and she had no idea how to handle it. "Change is usually a good thing, yes," she responded, trying to work her way around her words. "There's just been so much of it in every aspect of my life all at once that it's been a little stressful."

"Well I can definitely understand that." His voice was calm, and effortlessly assuring. It only made her feel worse - Anthony would be easy to fall into, to get wrapped up in, if she only felt some sort of deeper connection.

She straightened her back and took a deep breath. She had to rip the band-aid off. "Listen, Anthony, I—" But then the server was back with their plates in hand and questions about condiments and refills.

"This looks amazing," Anthony commented once the server departed. He pulled his plate closer and took a deep breath. "And it smells even better. Yours looks great too."

Hermione nodded, because it did, and she decided to push the conversation off for a few more minutes and enjoy her sandwich.

"Well?" he asked after she'd taken a bite. She smiled and swallowed.

"It's really good," she said, wiping her mouth with the corner of her napkin.

"Oh good, the pressure's off then."

Hermione let out a small laugh and took a drink of her water. "And yours?"

"So delicious it should be illegal."

They continued eating in an easy silence and Hermione was halfway through with her sandwich when Anthony finally spoke. "Alright then," he said, dipping a chip into his gravy, "I believe you were about to let me down easy before our food arrived?" Hermione nearly choked on her water. Anthony chuckled. "It's alright, really."

She swallowed and regained her breath. "I'm sorry, Anthony, honest. You're great, and Friday night was…  _really_  great." She paused, heat rising in her cheeks as just the memory of it. "It's just - well I've only just come out of a really serious relationship and I'm not at all ready to even think of another one and-"

"Hermione it's okay, I  _understand_." Her eyebrows drew together, meetings in a sea of wrinkled skin and he reached and put a hand on top of hers. "I'm going through the same thing."

There was a release, the tension and the worry lifted from her chest and she grabbed his hand. They smiled and laughed a little, at the situation and at themselves. Anthony leaned back. "Well that's a relief," he said and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"I was really worried about hurting you somehow," she added.

"Same here. I'd hoped the cactus was nice and then panicked afterwards because I started thinking, what if I was too nice and build her hopes up?"

She laughed. "I've been so hyper aware of that this whole time."

"We're ridiculous."

"Extremely." There was a quiet moment while they pick at their food, but it was light and comfortable. "So, who was she?" Hermione asked congenially. She glanced up at Anthony to see his eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. "Oh come on, you and the entirety of wizarding London know all about Ron and I."

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Alright, alright." A bittersweet smile and look overtook his features. "Muggle girl," he explained, "light brown hair, freckles, and a big, beautiful smile… smart, and funny, so funny."

"What happened?"

He sighed. "She got a job offer in Germany. She wanted me to go with her but I… I just couldn't. I have patients here, my friends and family. And lying to her, hiding what am, was already starting to take its toll - moving in with her would have made it impossible."

Hermione reached across the table and patted his hand. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, really. It was wonderful while it lasted and it ended on well enough terms." He paused, then sighed. "Anyway, I'm just not ready for anything  _serious_ again." He looked to her, like he was waiting on something from her.

Hermione moistened her lips and nodded. "Yeah,  _relationships_ do take an emotional debt." She held his gaze for a moment until the server walked up and laid their check on the table with a smile and a comment to take their time. Hermione looked at her watch. "Oh wow, I still have over half an hour left on my lunch."

"That was quick," he mused, pulling the check across the table.

"Oh no," Hermione said with a small chuckle. She reached for the check and her fingers grazed his; snippets of what she remembered from their previous tryst flashed through her mind and she was reminded of how she'd missed physical intimacy. She pulled the check back, hoping her cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt.

"You're really going to emasculate me like that?" Anthony asked, the humor obvious in his voice.

Hermione quirked a teasing eyebrow. "Is that all it takes? Well in that case maybe I should just keep the suggestion I was thinking of to myself."

Anthony exhaled sharply, something that was almost a laugh. "Well… if it's anything near what I was thinking, you can pay for  _everything_."

Hermione bit her lip and he smirked. They both stood. "Half," she said, putting down enough Muggle money to cover her half.

Anthony pulled out his wallet and did the same, then grabbed her by the hand. "My place?"

"How about mine," Hermione offered, pulling him out of the diner and into the alley.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and enter theo, one of my faves. sorry it took a little longer than usual, i just found myself not wanting to be at the computer for a while. who knows what that's about. real life? pfft! anyway, it's a bit of a filler chapter but we get to meet theo and have a bit of character building so it's all good. if you liked it, please take a few seconds to leave a review, it would mean so so much to me! and many thanks to those of you who've been supporting me through this!


	7. You Think All Girls Are Pretty

Draco's gaze lingered at the corners of her mouth, which were upturned ever so slightly, and watched as she shifted around the papers on her desk for what seemed like no reason. She'd come back from lunch flushed and flustered, and for reasons he wouldn't even begin to admit, he wanted to know  _why_.

She glanced up at him in the midst of her paper shuffling and he was quick to go back to his work. Had she received good news? Had she been on a date? Or worse, was she just  _like_ this? He didn't know if he could stand it, working with her if she was just always upbeat and atwitter, or if just any old thing set her off.

" _Malfoy_! Have you gone deaf?" Granger was staring at him, a batch of papers in her hand. Well, at least now he knew she could easily be pulled out of that mood.

His response slipped out before he could stop himself. "It's not my fault if you're so shrill that only dogs can hear you."

Her eyes narrowed at him, but he didn't break away. She held his gaze for a moment, then her lip twitched. "I need you to bring these to Lavender, she'll have some documents to give you in return."

She looked at him expectantly, like he should understand what she'd just said, like he should be able to extrapolate the information she hadn't given him. She held out the papers, shaking them when he didn't respond. He stood and reached for them, clearing his throat a little.

"Where, exactly, is um—"

"Lavender. Lavender  _Brown?_ " she answered, as if it were obvious. "She has a Divinations shop in Diagon Alley?"

He snatched the papers. "Alright," he snapped. She didn't have to speak to him as if he were a child.

If walking through the Ministry was torture, walking through Diagon Alley was hell. Heads turned when he flooed into the Leaky, and everyone watched him as he made his way to the back, whispers on the tips of their tongues and contempt in their eyes. In the alley itself folks gave him a wide berth, stepping clear of his path and gossiping being their hands. Some even went so far as to clutch at their children, as though he were in the business of snatching them up for any matter of nefarious means. Wizarding folk had always been easily scandalized, as most small and isolated communities are; so their antics around him, however exaggerated, were to be expected. It was almost laughable, though he knew laughing at them would do anything towards furthering his pursuits.

After ten or so minutes of walking along the cobblestone street, it became clear to him that finding this place wasn't going to be easy, and that he'd have to ask for directions. It was a loathsome thought. The easiest thing to do would be to head for Knockturn Alley and ask one of the shopkeepers there, they at least had enough sense to feign fear and respect, but that had it's drawbacks. Being spotted there would be nothing but a detriment to his plans, so he was left to duck into nearest shop and hope for the best.

Thankfully it was empty, save for the shopkeeper, who stiffened at his entry. "I'm looking for Brown's Divination Shoppe." Draco said, simply and with no fanfare.

The gruff old man behind the counter sniffed. "A block north, 'round the corner."

Draco nodded and left the shop. Moments later he was standing in front of a small storefront, a giant purple flashing eye in the window. He sighed, and pushed the door open. Sage hung heavy in the air, almost choking him with its odor. After he took a few steps in, the fireplace in the corner roared to life on its own.

"Hello," he called, trying to suppress a cough. There was a clatter from the back, like something wooden falling to the floor.

"Just a moment, Draco," came a voice.

Draco was taken aback. How had she known it was him? He looked around the room, at the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, the layers of rugs on the floor, the heavy upholstered chairs positioned around a crystal ball. "Divinations," he scoffed.

"Not Divinations," Lavender said, amused. Draco looked up to see a mass of bouncing blonde curls pushing through a red beaded curtain. "Hermione," she explained, rounding the counter. Before Draco fully realized what she was doing, because receiving a hug from someone he didn't even really know was the last thing he'd expected, her arms were around his neck, pulling his rigid frame in close. "How have you been, you look proper good, healthy," she gushed, stepping away and patting him on the arm.

He stood there, at a total loss of what to do, his words failing him. She didn't seem to notice.

"Well, it can't be too bad, you're out of prison, yeah? Anything's got to be better than that." She made her way across the room to the small table near the fireplace. "Tea?"

"N—no thank you," Draco finally managed. He reached into his coat pocket to pull out the documents he'd came here for. "I've brought these for you. I'm to understand you have something for me."

Lavender poured her tea. "Oh all business, huh? All right." She sipped her tea as she made her way back behind the counter. "Let's see," she mused, bending down to search for her own documents. "Here we are." She handed her papers over and reached for the ones he was holding.

Draco traded papers with her, and looked down at what was now in his hands. "Lupin's Law," he mumbled, reading the heading.

"Rough drafts, mind," Lavender started, and Draco had to bite his tongue. Did she ever stop talking? "It's not like we're anywhere near getting them passed, or even onto the floor for that matter, but when we are, we'll be ready. They'll be mint when we're through with them, there won't be a single flaw."

Draco made a small hum of acknowledgement, fearful that were he to give her any verbal confirmation she'd keep talking. "Well, I have to be on my way. Thank you, for the exchange." He started backing out as he spoke, making his escaped as quickly as he could.

"Anytime, anytime. And you feel free to come see me if you ever need that aura of yours cleaned up."

Draco flashed a fake smile and backed out of the door. Aura? She had to be joking. He ran his hand through his hair and took a breath, regathering himself. That had been quite a whirlwind, and all he had to show for it was the strong stench of smoke and sage sticking to his cloak.

He stopped just out of view of the store and unfolded the papers in his hand, quickly scanning over them. It was clear that the two of them, and possibly one or two other people, had traded these documents multiple times, each time adding new edits and annotations. With just a cursory reading he noted a few things that would never get through even the first stages of the process, and a few that, if worded properly, could possibly slide in undetected.

An old witch crossed his path and spat near his feet. His heart sunk as his eyes fixated on the spot. After that, the thought of returning to the Ministry wasn't so bad, and, in fact, he suddenly found himself anxious to get back.

In the office, he dropped the rough drafts onto Granger's desk but kept his comments to himself. If werewolves got new rights then so be it, but he wasn't going to waste his time and efforts on a lost cause.

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon drug on, and by the time Draco stepped into the Ministry floo he wanted nothing more than to go home, take a sleeping potion, and sleep for the rest of the night. His back ached and his head throbbed from all of the tension and animosity in that office and he just wanted to turn everything off for the night. It seemed, however, as though the cosmic joke that was fate had other plans, because when he stepped out of the fireplace and into the foyer of his home he heard multiple voices echoing in from elsewhere.

A House Elf appeared at his knees to take his cloak. "Master Malfoy has asked Moxy to warn hims when the Greengrasses are visiting," she said, eyes lowered and voice anxious. "They are ins the parlor, sir."

Draco inhaled deeply and handed the Elf his cloak. "Thank you, Moxy," he said, almost growling. He tilted his head from one side to the other, popping the joints in his neck before straightening up and walking towards the parlor.

"Draco, dear," his mother greeted as he stepped through the open double doors, a faux smile plastered on his face. Well, not a smile so much as an un-scowl. Narcissa sat in one of the two Louis XV armchairs in the room, while Astoria and her parents sat opposite her on the matching sofa. There was tea laid out on the table between them.

He nodded his head at his mother, then to the other three as he spoke their names. "Mother, Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, Astoria," he greeted, exchanging a quick look with Astoria at the end. She almost looked apologetic.  _Almost_.

"I'm so glad that you're home. I've invited the Greengrasses over for dinner." His mother sipped her tea, an absent smile on her face. These visits, these dinners, the whole set up between her son and Astoria, was all she really had left to look forward to any more.

"How wonderful," he commented with as much authenticity he could muster. He looked to the Greengrasses, to Astoria. "I do hope you've accepted?"

Mrs. Greengrass reached over to pat her daughter on the knee. "We wouldn't dream of declining, would we dear?"

Astoria's smile was much more believable than Draco's had been, she was better at this than he was. She held her hand over her mother's. "Never. Father, I was actually hoping that Draco and I might go for a walk around the garden?"

"Oh that would be  _lovely_ ," Narcissa cooed. "The freesias are in bloom in the west garden and it smells just divine."

Mr. Greengrass didn't say anything, he simply nodded at his daughter. Astoria and her mother exchanged smiles and Draco held his arm out for her.

"Dinner is in an hour!" Narcissa called as they turned and headed for the back doors.

Once out of earshot, Draco tilted his head towards Astoria. "You could have warned me," he whispered.

"Where's the fun in that," she replied, just as quiet.

They reached the double French doors and entered the backyard, dropping each other's arms as soon as they were out of sight of their parents. Astoria let out a sigh of relief and shook out her arms. "Oh Merlin, I feel so stiff. This dress is so uncomfortable," she said, pulling at the waist.

"I suppose you'd rather be in slacks," Draco remarked. It was meant to be a teasing insult but Astoria raised her head.

"Yes, actually, I would."

Draco rolled his eyes, but smiled. Astoria Greengrass, as unconventional as ever. "So are you  _ever_ going to tell them?" he asked as they started walking again.

"Tell who what?" There was a false innocence to her voice and Draco gave her a flat look. She shrugged. "Yes, eventually. It's just… Daphne's already given them so much grief, I couldn't bare to crush another dream of theirs."

"Their little girl marrying a handsome young man," Draco mocked in a dreamy tone.

Astoria snorted. "More like their little girl securing a fiscally sound future for them."

"After me for my fortune are you?"

"Oh, most definitely." They shared a laugh and rounded a hedge corner. Draco took a deep breath. His mother was right, the freesia did smell divine. "Besides," Astoria picked up, plucking a flower from the hedge, "what about your mother? This arrangement of ours is all she has. She was trying to discuss locations before you arrived."

Draco sighed, Astoria was right. "She's also under the impression that if it weren't for you I'd have absolutely no marriage prospects."

Astoria laughed. "Well, I'd have to agree with her, though I'm sure for much different reasons."

"Think you're funny?" Draco snapped, but there was an undertone of humor in his voice. Astoria was one of two people he felt comfortable enough with to joke around in such manor. Theo was the other.

"Tremendously so."

They continued their walk for some time in a more than comfortable silence. Not only were the freesias in bloom, but so were the phloxes and the forsythias, and the gentle breeze made the walk all the more pleasant.

"So... you still relying on potions to sleep?" Astoria asked after a while. Draco frowned. As much as he loved her bluntness, it didn't make questions like that any less affronting.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't sleep," he answered, his tone clipped in the hopes that she'd leave the subject alone.

"It's just not healthy," she continued. He should have known better. "You know, if you'd like, I could—"

"Astoria, please," he said sharply. Her mouth clamped shut and he sighed. "Just change the subject."

"Fine," she acquiesced, then, in a lighter tone, "I have a date Friday night." She looked quite pleased with herself.

"Anyone we know?"

Her smile turned into a knowing, mischievous smirk. "No, a  _muggle_ girl." Draco scoffed, like she knew he would, and she slapped his arm. "Oh stop. She's perfectly nice, and very pretty."

Draco chuckled. "You think all girls are pretty."

Astoria just smiled and shrugged.

* * *

 

Wednesday morning passed by quite uneventfully and by lunch Hermione was starting to think that they'd finally fallen into a rhythm; a tense, eyeroll and scoff filled rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless. She left for lunch stressed over a few things that were sitting on her desk, but completely unconcerned about Malfoy, and had a pleasantly quiet meal by herself at her favorite Greek restaurant. She was even almost in a good mood when she returned, and felt as though maybe the paperwork she had to do wouldn't be that bad after all.

And then came a small tapping on the window to the office door. Hermione, not wanting to deal with the scowl that Malfoy would surely produce would she ask him to answer it, stood up to open the door. She plucked the folded paper memo out of the air and felt it go limp and unfold in her hands.

A sense of dread filled her chest as she read. "Malfoy," she said, trying to reign in her anger. Her hands clamped around the note, almost balling it up.

"Granger," he replied, mocking her tone. She stared at him, and when she didn't continue he looked up as though it were the most inconvenient thing in the world.

She took a deep breath and tried to keep calm."Do you recall when Ms. Grimshaw stopped by on your first day?" Draco merely blinked at her, and she officially balled the note up in her hands. "From the DMLE?"

His face began to fall and she nodded. "Yes, with whom we had to reschedule a meeting?"

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

"Tell me, when was that for?"

Malfoy swallowed, but didn't look away. "This morning."

"And where was I this morning?"

"Granger, look I'm—"

"Not at that meeting! Because I didn't know about that meeting! And now—" she held up the note "—Harry's informed me that she's appalled at my behaviour, at my total lack of respect for her and her time." Instead of guilt, Malfoy's face started to tell her that he was actually getting angry. "That was a very important meeting! You may have ruined everything I've been working for with her for the past year!"

"I'm not a child!" He slammed his hand down on the desk and Hermione let out a mock laugh.

"You could have fooled me! You've been nothing but  _childish_ this entire week, and now I'm screwed because you couldn't be bothered to do your job!"

"A job for which I am wholly  _over_ -qualified! I've never done something so menial in my life and yet you had the audacity—"

That was it, the thing that finally broke the dangerously thin thread holding her anger in." _Me_?! You're trying to turn this around on  _me_?!" She laughed incredulously. "Here I am, giving you a chance when no one else will and you're trying to place your failure onto my shoulders? This job was a test, Malfoy, a test that you are failing in more ways than one. If I can't trust you here, performing the simplest of tasks right next to me, then how am I supposed to trust you do anything of import out there on your own?"

"Granger," he tried, his anger now dissipated and replaced, finally, with guilt, but she was much too riled up to stop.

"You made a completely preventable and avoidable mistake that put a whole slew of creatures at risk, and then, as if that wasn't enough, proceeded to try and tell me that it was my fault! Are you aware of just how ridiculous that is?"

"Granger!" He'd caught her attention, and she stared at him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, waiting for him to try and defend himself. He swallowed but held his head up. "I'm sorry." He stated, almost gracefully, though without much more emotion. His hands came together, palms pressing into each other, and he pointed them at her. It was a move designed to feel like praying, or begging, without him having to actually do any praying or begging. "Let me fix it." He crossed his arms.

"Have you lost your mind? Why would I ever—"

"If you're going to reprimand me for it, then at least give me a chance to fix it." His tone was level.

She scoffed. "Three days in and I'm already sick of giving you chances." She ran her hands over her face and sighed, she really didn't have much of a choice. "You have one day."

He nodded. "Thank you." But it wasn't a grateful phrase, she noted, it was more of a 'thank-you-for-finally-realizing-how-great-I-am' thank you. Then, to her astonishment, he sat back down. "I have one day, do I not?" he asked coolly when he saw her face.

She stared at him a moment longer then returned to her desk.

She'd been working tirelessly with Ms. Grimshaw for nearly a year, trying to put laws in place against the mistreatment, abuse, and neglect of non-sentient creatures as there were scant, if any, on the books. Ms. Grimshaw was stubborn and gruff, and not prone to compromise, but Hermione was just as stubborn and over time they'd come to some semblance of an agreement. All they really had to do now, was agree on some of the terminology in the law, and draft everything up for submission. But of course, Malfoy had probably just set her back  _months_.

After a few hours, he rose, walking around his desk and to the door, and she felt a little bit of relief. Finally, he was going to speak with her. Her stress flooded back two fold, however, when he returned to the office not fifteen minutes later; that was hardly enough time to get to her office, let alone beg for forgiveness. Not long after that he left again, this time for only a few minutes, and she was nearly ready to explode. But she didn't, because she knew that was what he wanted.

Finally, at twenty-til-five, he stood up again, but this time stopped in front of her desk. "Wish me luck," he chirped, adjusting the knot of his tie. She just glared at him. "That's all right, I don't really need it." He winked at her and it took every ounce of self control she had not to lunge across the desk at him.

Just as the clock hit five, he strolled in through the door and gave her a tight smile. "You're welcome," he chimed.

She felt a rush of tension leave her body, but she didn't show it. "I'm supposed to thank you? For fixing a problem you caused to begin with?"

Draco took a breath, but Hermione put up a hand. She didn't want to start with that argument. "What I want to know is — how did you get her to forgive me in under twenty minutes?" Her worry was that he'd used the Imperius curse, though she couldn't quite bring herself to say it. Part of her knew it was wrong to just assume that simply because of who he was. But then he smirked and she had to wonder.

"The key to manipulation is not letting someone know you're manipulating them."

She furrowed her brow. She wanted to say, "Yes, obviously," but she was much too concerned with what he'd done.

"Oh, unclench, Granger," he scoffed when he saw her face. "I didn't do anything unsavory, it wasn't that difficult."

Hermione leveled her stare at him but sighed. She didn't have the energy. She drew her wand to summon four thick scrolls of parchment from her desk. "Now that you've corrected your problem," she started, her soft voice a stark contrast to her threatening gaze, "you can atone for having made it in the first place by copy editing the law she and I are trying to pass." The scrolls landed in his hands and he swallowed. "And after that, you can transcribe it all to one long scroll of parchment, making sure it's neat and free of any error."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit early on the update, how about that? i've been on A Roll lately so i figured, why not! as you may have noticed the chapters start getting a bit longer from here on out, as the story just calls for it. though i'm sure no one is complaining about that, haha.
> 
> so, a thing; this story is quickly becoming more of an ensemble cast situation. end game still is and will always be dramione, but i've found that i am enjoying seeing other relationships and friendships in this story play out as well and i'm going to continue to explore that. writing lavender fucking with draco was fun, writing his friendship with astoria was fun. we'll meet dennis in the next few chapters and i absolutely adore him, and i'm very excited to bring in pansy and blaise and others later on. i guess what i'm getting at is if you want a dramione fic with no hint of anyone else, this isn't the one for you. but otherwise i think it'll be a wild ride that's worth it in the end. 
> 
> whew. anyway. thanks again and always for your reviews! some of you have been here since ch 1 and are going strong, others are just joining in and i love it all! reviews really mean so much to me, and you've all been so wonderful!! 
> 
> i'm hoping to update again fairly soon, probably in the first week of may, earlier if i get twelve done quickly, so check back!


	8. Whatever the Foundation Needs

Draco stepped out of the floo and into his home more than ready for the day to be over. He tossed the parchments on the table next to the fireplace and shrugged his coat off. There was a bottle of aged firewhiskey in the parlor with his name on it, and that law could wait until he was good and ready.

There was a tug on the knee of his pants. "The Greengrasses are sittings in the parlor with Master Malfoy's mother." Moxy looked up at him with apologetic eyes.

He sighed. "Is Astoria with them?"

The elf took his coat and folded it over her arms, anxiously smoothing down the fabric. "No sir, just Mr and Mrs Greengrass."

"Thank you, Moxy. Please make sure there's Firewhiskey in my study."

"Oh yes, sir. Right aways, sir." Moxy bowed a few times then vanished.

Draco rolled his shoulders and straightened his tie before reaching for the scrolls he was now thankful to have. Tucking them under his arm, he hurried to the parlor, a charmingly disheveled smile lying in wait behind his lips. He stepped into the room and greeted his mother, then the Greengrasses, and spoke with them for just a moment before using his work to excuse himself and disappeared into his study, where Moxy had not only prepared him a drink but also left him a plate of his favorite toffee. He smiled. Not that he'd ever admit to such frivolous things, but if he were ever forced to choose, Moxy would be his favorite elf. She'd been with him since he was two, and as such knew him extremely well and could anticipate his needs with great success. (She was also very sweet, and could be quite funny when she wanted to be, but he most certainly wouldn't know anything about that.)

He worked on the legislation until the Greengrasses' left, and then until his mother went to bed. He worked on them again the following day, and spent most of that night with his hands covered in ink and parchment dust.

Friday morning he dropped them onto Granger's desk, a flat expression on his face. "Edited and transcribed," he drawled, turning to return to his desk. "I also took the liberty of changing a few words around," he added, still not pausing, "to your advantage, of course."

He felt the tension pull from the room and into Granger's body, heard her inhale sharply, hold it for a few seconds, and exhale slowly. "Malfoy," she said, her words a warning.

Affixing what he thought was a neutral look to his features, he finally sat down looked up at her. "Your words were too hostile, Granger," he said before she could say anything else. "They would have put people on the defensive, made them feel like it was a win or lose situation. No one wants to lose, and to them losing would have been changing the status quo. So…" He gestured to the scrolls, "I changed the wording a bit. Now it just feels like the natural progression of things as opposed to an outright upheaval. Read it over if you'd like, but everything I added was solid and necessary."

She stared him down and he was sure she was about open her mouth and start screeching at him again, but he was saved by the bell. Or, a knock, as it were.

"Surprise!"

Granger eyes grew wide when she looked to the door, where there now stood a tall boy with shaggy light brown curls and freckles splayed across his button nose and pale pink cheeks.

"Dennis!" Granger exclaimed, and rushed out of her seat to greet him. Draco leaned back, watching her hug him tight around the neck before hold him at arm's length to look him over, like an adult does to a child after a long absence. "You're back early! How was Denmark?"

The boy, Dennis, shrugged, it was an exaggerated movement that shifted around his baggy muggle coat and the canvas bag slung across his torso. "It was good, lots to see, plenty of museums. Dad ate a couple of bad oysters though, so we cut the trip short." Dennis finally gazed around the office and stopped when his eyes landed on Draco. "What's this?" he asked playfully, "not even gone a full week and you've replaced me?"

Granger glanced back at Draco and rolled her eyes, "With him?" The two of them shared a laugh and Draco felt an odd mixture of shame and indignation begin to rise in his chest. Then Granger turned to him again, and he saw the smile on her face, the look in her eye. She wasn't making fun of him, not really. It was a bit of friendly ribbing in which he was, apparently, supposed to partake. He saw her face fall a little as she took in his expression and things felt even more surreal. She was _sad_ that he hadn't caught on, that he'd thought she would honestly derive joy in a joke at his expense. It was a small moment, happening all within a few seconds, but it stirred something in him that he wasn't sure he much appreciated.

"Dennis, this is The Foundation's newest staff member, Draco Malfoy." His name was warm on her lips and somehow calmed the blender of emotions swirling in his stomach.

Dennis reached a hand out, slicing through the haze in his mind. "Yeah, of course," he said, acknowledging that he knew just who Draco was. "Dennis Creevey," he introduced, a friendly smile on his face.

Surprising even himself, Draco shook his hand with a smile. "Oh, so The Foundation's named after you, is it?" he asked, but immediately regretted it upon seeing Dennis' face.

"Uh," Dennis chuckled nervously, a hand on the back of his neck and his eyes casting a side glance at Granger.

"Dennis," Granger jumped in, placing a hand on Dennis' arm and turning him back to her, "if you're _back_ back, you should hunt down Lavender and have her catch you up on things."

Dennis nodded. "That works, I actually have a souvenir for her. Oh, and speaking of which-" he paused to pull his bag around front and reach inside. He pulled out a teal, hardcover book and handed it to her.

"You didn't have too!" she gasped, but he just shrugged. "Hans Christian Anderson," she read, fingers grazing the gilded letters on the cover. "You absolute sweetheart." She pulled him into a hug and he mumbled something about thinking nothing of it. She thanked him again and shut the door behind him, then turned to give Draco and empathetic look.

"What did I say?"

"Malfoy," she sighed, the warmth gone, replaced with pity. He realized that had been her emotion earlier, pity, not sad. "The Foundation is named after _Colin_ , Dennis' brother. He…" She took a shaky breath. "He died in the war…"

He felt like a complete and total arse. He sunk, both into his body and into his chair. Colin Creevey… "That— that kid with the camera…" Hermione nodded. He wiped a hand down his face. "Oh, I should have realized. I should have known."

Granger took a step towards him, hands fidgeting in front of her. "You couldn't have…" she started, but he waved her off. She bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that followed. "Every year, for Colin's birthday," she started, just trying to fill the void, "his family go on holiday together to celebrate his life." Her voice cracked and there was another moment of silence. "They take lots of pictures for him," she added, half a mumble. She seemed to run out of things to say then but thankfully the door opened again and Dennis was back, leaning halfway into the room and looking around the door.

"Oh, another thing!" he chimed, completely unaware of the heavy conversation that had just taken place. "We popped by Hogwarts on the way home, so Mum and Dad could see the memorial, and McGonagall asked me to tell you that she wouldn't be able to make your first meeting for the Spring Fling, but to start without her as she trusts your judgement."

Granger's faced dropped for half a second before she pulled out a stock smile and nodded. "Thank you Dennis," she strained to keep her tone light. As soon as the door was shut she groaned and covered her face. "I can't believe I forgot, I forgot _all about_ it!"

"About what?" Draco asked, but instantly wanted to take it back.

"Hogwarts is having its first Spring dance next month." She rubbed her eyes, then her temples. "I was supposed to come up with a theme and a band and people to run it but I forgot all about it, what with the House Elves and the Lycanthropy Rights, and the stupid Creature Care act!" She threw her arm up in the direction of her desk where the scrolls lay, taunting her. "What am I going to do? Ginny's practice is ramping up, Lavender has her shop, Neville isn't even going to be in the country come next week… I can't plan it _all_ myself."

Draco had stayed quiet, slowly leaning back and slouching into his seat. He saw when the idea finally hit her, how every bit of her seemed to freeze for just a few seconds before her eyes drifted toward him.

His back stiffened. "No," he started, shifting in his chair, moving further away from her and her absurd ideas.

"It is what you're here for isn't it? To work for me, to get my seal of approval?"

Draco opened his mouth to object, but couldn't. He didn't have much of a defense in that department so instead he stood and leaned over the desk, hoping an intimidation tactic would work. "I did _not_ sign up for chaperoning school dances!"

"You signed up to do whatever the Foundation needs. The Foundation _needs_ that percentage of the ticket sales, the Foundation _needs_ a presence at Hogwarts, the Foundation _needs-_ "

He threw his hands in the air. He should have known better than to try and intimidate Hermione Granger, it only made her stronger. "I get it!"

Hermione smiled, something partly victorious with a little bit of gratitude. "I'll give you my lists from the Winter Formal, that should be a good start."

* * *

 

"The first dance was a disaster," Dennis said, dunking two chips into his sauce before taking a huge bite. He and Draco were sitting outside of a fish and chip takeaway shop at a wooden table under a white umbrella, the weather being a bit chilly but with enough sun to compensate.

Dennis shook his head, a small laugh in his voice. "Some kid spiked one of the punch bowls and we had to shut it down early. Not that there was much to shut down, hardly anyone showed up!" He took a large bite from his fish, nipping a bit of vinegar off of his thumb after. He was every bit the laid-back, energetic, and affable spirit one would expect from a nineteen-year-old Muggleborn Gryffindor. He was gangly, all elbows and knees, with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his bright brown eyes. Draco watched him for a moment and tried to recall what his brother had looked like, if they looked anything alike, but all he could muster was that camera and its blinding flash.

It was the Monday after he'd received his new ridiculous and asinine assignment and he'd decided to take Dennis out to lunch. Granger had given him her lists on Friday, along with a binder full of every note she'd ever taken over the course of four years worth of Winter Formals, and he'd decided that it might be easier to have help sorting through it all. And, while eating his entire meal with his hands wasn't quite the lunch he would have liked, letting Dennis pick the place was the least Draco could do after his completely uncouth mix up upon their meeting. This place was Dennis' favorite.

"The second year was better though." He wiped his hands with a napkin. "We charmed the bowls," he added with a wink.

"Ah well, what I'm currently concerned with is this binder," Draco said, tapping the big black book between them with his pinky, his pointer being coated in grease.

Dennis waved him off. "Honestly, you'll need about half of this. The to-do and supply lists are good, and there is a section in here about handling the students that you'll probably want to read but most of this is mundane and really specific stuff. It helps Hermione, but it's overkill for most people."

"Well that's a relief," Draco mumbled, relaxing in his chair and taking another bit of his fish, which was, admittedly, quite good. "Didn't she say something about doing some new things this go 'round?"

Dennis nodded as he took a sip of his fizzy drink. "Really she just wants to do a few raffles with some of the shops in the village, in Diagon. You know, have Madam Malkin's donate a dress robe or two, or ask Puddifoot's to offer up tea for two, things like that."

Draco hummed. "And she's already spoken with them?"

"Oh, no. No, that would be your job as well."

Draco sighed.

"Honestly, if you just let the students do what they're supposed to do, plan the decorations and the menu, pick the band, and sell the tickets, there won't be much for you to do. Hermione just can't hand over control, so she stresses out over every little thing and makes it seem bigger than it is." Dennis shrugged and devoured the last bit of his fish while Draco cleaned his hands and observed him.

"You're a good kid, Dennis."

Dennis' face wrinkled, he'd been caught off guard, but he quickly smiled. "Thank you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh it's too short! i know i know, but there was a whole thing where i forgot a scene in ten, and when i went back to add it it made ten way too long so i had to rework everything and this felt like the best chapter break so... sorry? but at least we meet dennis! i love dennis, he is just a bright spot in the world. so pure, so nice. and, ch9 is over 3k so *shrug*
> 
> so many of you are on board the ensemble direction and i'm super stoked about that! i think you guys are going to love ch9 (hint, we meet gw and it's fantastic) 
> 
> as always, thank you guys so so much for your reviews and support!!! and please if you liked any bit of this, i want to know! what do you think about dennis? how do you think draco's going to handle the children at the school? or just let your cat walk across the keyboard and hit enter - i love it all! thank you guys :)


	9. That Was Almost Clever

Sunday morning Draco awoke bright, early, and ready to get as many things checked off of his list as possible. The way he figured it, the more he accomplished on the first day the less he'd have to actually visit the school.

He started in Diagon Alley. The streets were nearly empty, as he'd arrived just as the shops were beginning to open. He assumed that most of the people he saw were shopkeepers or clerks, many of whom, he was thankful to find, were too busy to take much notice of him. He strolled down the street at a casual pace and made it to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions without incident. Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible day at all.

The bell above the door rang as he entered the shop and from the back a familiar voice called. "Be with you in a moment, deary!"

He looked around the shop, comforted to see that little had changed. There were still the same few pedestals in the back for hemming work, and the walls were still lined to the ceiling with racks of robes. Only… he squinted at the sign on the wall to his left, it read "Modern Muses". He looked at the robes and dresses surrounding the sign and noted that they were much more akin to muggle fashion than wizarding. Had that selection always been there? Had he just never noticed? Or was it a new display?

"All right, now then, how can I help you?" Madam Malkin's voice dropped off at the end of her sentence as she shuffled into the front room and saw who was waiting for her. She stiffened, no doubt mentally taking stock of where he wand was. She cleared her throat and her face set with determination. "How can I help you?" she repeated, as though none of this bothered her whatsoever.

Draco chose to ignore her reaction and rise above it, mainly because he needed something from her. "Good morning," he greeted with a slight bow of his head. "I am here on behalf of The Creevey Foundation." He didn't bother with introductions, she obviously already knew exactly who he was.

Her head jerked a little. That was certainly not something she'd expected to hear. "All right," she squeaked.

"We are in the process of helping Hogwarts organize a Spring dance, set for mid-April."

"Oh how lovely!"

_Lovely_ was not the word he'd have chosen. "Yes, well, we were actually hoping to have a few raffles, and to involve several key shops, such as yours. We'll sell entries at a sickle each and choose a winner sometime before the ball."

"That sounds like a grand plan! And just what would you be needing from me? A dress, or perhaps dress robes?"

Draco hummed. "Actually I was thinking about five dresses, and five dress robes."

Her eyes grew wide and her face hardened. "Listen here, boy. I will not be strong armed in my own shop! That mark doesn't scare me, I will not stand for it!"

Draco's body tensed as every muscle went into defense mode. His breathing grew shallow and Madam Malkin took a step back, betraying her previous claim of being unafraid. Then he realized this could play to his advantage and smiled, something that was definitely not friendly or meek. "Actually," he started, applying his drawl in pushing his nose further into the air in a snotty yet effortless way only someone raised in wealth could. "I was planning on buying them out of my own pocket, so I would appreciate it if you locked your despicable assumptions away, Madam Malkin." He could see her guilt in her face, but she simply gave a curt nod.

"Very well," she huffed, suddenly very interested in the dust on the counter. "I'll supply the shoes," she quickly added. Draco felt a small surge of adrenaline coursing through his chest. Guilt was a powerful motivator.

"Now, which dresses would you like?"

He looked around for a moment and realized that he didn't want to bother with that bit. "Winner's choice. The Headmistress will bring them in and you will charge my family's personal account. You still have us on file, yes?" He took her silent glare as an affirmation. "Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your day."

Outside the street was a little busier but not by much. Over the next hour he secured partnerships with a few more shops, including the apothecary shop, the Magical Menagerie, the ice cream parlour, and Quality Quidditch Supplies, where he procured two broom cleaning sets for the raffle and one for himself. It was nearly time to head to Hogsmeade, but he had one more stop.

The bright and ostentatious building towered over him and he tried to hold back his sneer. Granger had told him that George would be a big donor, as well as a favorite among the children, so he really had no choice.

A horn sounded when he walked through the door as opposed to a bell, followed by a nasally alarm that cried out "Sourpuss! Sourpuss!" He cringed and covered his ears.

"Someone's a bit cranky!" Came a call from the other side of the shop. There was a pop and smoke rose from a back corner as the smell of sulfur drifted his way. "Don't worry, we can fix tha— oh ho ho, well, well, _well_." From around a shelf came the unmistakable visage of a Weasley. He was shorter and stockier than the one Draco was more acquainted with, but a Weasley nonetheless. George walked behind the bright orange and blue clerk's counter, resting his chin in his palms and his elbows on the counter.

"To what do we owe this charming visit?" he asked in an affected tone, his head bobbing in his hands.

Draco had absolutely no idea how to respond. He started to say something but nothing came out.

"I know, I take your breath away don't I?" George crooned.

"Oh bloody hell," came another voice, this one much more familiar. He turned to see Ron standing in an aisle, box of merchandise in his hands and a scowl on his face. "Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron sneered.

The amount of animosity rolling off of Ron seemed to bring Draco back to his senses, and he smirked, knowing exactly how to respond to this one. "I'd love to, _Weasel_ , but as it were I am here on Foundation business."

"This is bullshit," Ron mumbled, dropping the box to the floor before storming off to the back.

George pulled a face and Draco was reminded of the face Ginny had given him at the beginning of the week. "He's been a bit touchy lately," George said with a dramatic sigh.

Draco cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I really am here on _Foundation_ business. You see, we're-"

"Holding a raffle! Yes I know." For a moment Georged disappeared, ducking behind the counter to sift around under it. He popped back up holding two large canvas sacks in each hand. "Loot bags," he explained, dropping them onto the counter with a thud. "Each one stuffed to the brim with a variety of Mcgonagall approved merchandise." He held the back of his hand up next to his mouth. "'Cept, of course, for a few Puking Pastilles at the bottom." He winked theatrically and pushed the bags toward Draco, who took a small step back.

"That's wonderful, really, but you should… hold onto those, until the winners are chosen."

George gave him a cheeky grin. "Come on then. I promise there are no Dung Bombs hidden in them."

But Draco was still slowly stepping backwards, inching closer to the door with a stiff smile on his face. "That's quite alright. Thank you for the donation, I'm sure the children will love it." He pivoted on his heels and pushed through the door, relishing in the fresh air that rushed over his face. Honestly, what was wrong with the Weasley clan? The whole lot of them were nutters.

He smoothed his hair back and rolled his neck, taking a deep breath before turning and heading back to the Leaky.

"You bastard."

Draco stopped and turned to see Ron leaning against a wall in the alleyway next to the shop. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Ron pushed off of the wall.

"Weasel," Draco greeted in a flat voice.

"I don't know what you're getting at, slithering around Hermione and the Foundation, but if you—"

The corners of Draco's lips twitched ever so slightly and he cocked his head. "Slithering? I'm impressed, Weasley. That was _almost_ clever."

Ron's brow dipped between his eyes as he stepped towards Draco. He reached for his wand but Draco was quicker. Ron blinked and there was a hawthorn wand pointed right at his nose. "I'd rethink that action if I were you," Draco sneered.

Ron stared him down for another moment, then held his hands up in surrender. Draco uttered a silencing charm over Ron and with an extra jab of his wand sent Ron's flying from his pocket and to the cobblestone between them, then he lowered his arm and tutted. "You see, that's the problem with you Gryffindors; you're so full of gallantry and chivalry, so eager to join the fight, that you fail to recognize the subtleties in life. Well, _most_ of you anyway, as Granger seems to know exactly what I'm doing and appears to even have motives of her own. Imagine that, it's almost as if she's her own person and fully capable of taking care of herself."

Ron frowned and made to protest, but nothing came out. Draco gave a calculated, patronizing smile. "I wonder, how much of your knight-in-shining-armor routine does she actually appreciate, as opposed to simply tolerate?"

The fact that Ron's face was nearly as red as his hair gave Draco a sickening amount of pleasure. He'd just found a weak spot in the bloke that he hadn't really been able to exploit in school. He turned on his heel and whisked his wand in the air, lifting the silencing spell. "Don't think on it too hard, Weasley. You'll sprain something." And then he apparated, going directly to the front step of the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Draco never thought he'd be riding the Hogwarts Express again. There were other travel options of course; Granger had suggested flooing right into McGonagall's office, it's what she did, after all, but Draco needed only a moment to imagine what might happen were _he_ were to just pop into Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's office unannounced and unexpected to know what a horrible plan that was. Then there was the option of apparating somewhere in Hogsmeade and taking a carriage, but he also thought better of someone like him just appearing in the middle of the village during a Hogsmeade weekend around all those students. So the train it was: formal, drawn out, unsurprising and unassuming.

The grand thing about the Hogwarts Express is that it expands and contracts to fit its current number of occupants, and because he and a little blue haired lady knitting a pair of garish orange socks were the only two passengers aboard, the train had shrunk to just the engine and one small passenger car. And a smaller train was a faster train.

Still, the Trolley Witch managed to appear seemingly out of nowhere and knock on the car door. "Anything from the trolley?"

He held up a declining hand, but the old woman across from him put her knitting down and fished around in her pockets for her money. "Never too old for a sweet tooth," she croaked when she sat back down with her selection of treats. Draco gave a quick but polite smile, hoping she'd leave it at that and go back to her knitting. He even pulled a piece of folded parchment out of his cloak pocket and began to look over it in an attempt to encourage her silence.

At the top of the page was a list of the students on the dance committee. Next to their names were their years, houses, and reasons for joining the committee, along with any warnings he might need. Katherine Knightwood, for example, was apparently a class clown and the only way to deal with her cutting up was to ignore it. He looked over the list and smiled when he saw that two of the students join solely to get a foot in the door at the Foundation, and that they were the only two Slytherins. In total, there were eighteen students ready to help.

"Are you headed to Hogsmeade too, dear?" the woman asked, unwrapping a sweet.

Draco bit back a sigh. Well, he'd tried. "Hogwarts, actually."

"Oh, my my. You wouldn't be a student, would you?"

He felt the prick of a migraine start in at the back of his head. "No, not for a few years now." He paused for just a moment, then figured that if he just told her what he was doing, she might leave him alone. "I'm heading in to begin organizing a new school dance. Hogwarts will have their first Spring Fling this year, if all goes well, thanks to The Creevey Foundation."

The woman appeared impressed. "I've heard of them! Lot of good work they're trying to do. You been working for them very long?" She put a peppermint in her mouth and looked at him expectantly.

"Uh, no, not particularly. This is my first real assignment."

"Oh I bet you're excited, then."

Draco gave a tight smile and a curt nod, as he didn't exactly want to tell her that no, he really couldn't be any less excited about the whole thing.

"A bit nervous too, huh?"

"Something like that," he mumbled, and she opened her mouth to speak again but he'd finally had enough. "I actually should be going over my instructions, one last time. If you don't mind."

She waved a veiny, wrinkled hand at him. "Of course, of course my dear."

He straightened the parchment in his hands and went back to reading. The Foundation was to do most of the planning and prepping, which included setting up a menu and procuring the night's entertainment. The children did most of the on site leg work like advertising, ticket selling, and decorating, all for which they earned extra curricular credit and house points, as well as reference letters from Hermione Granger herself if they needed them after school.

Even once he'd read over the papers twice, he kept them up in front of his face so as to avoid any further conversation with the kindly yet extensively nosey witch. She wished him luck when they pulled into the station and left the train, and he'd thanked her. As she went towards the village, and he towards the carriage waiting to take him to the school, he looked back to find her smiling at him and it sent a shiver down his spine. But he shook it off, and within a few moments was in a carriage and on his way to the school.

It was a quiet ride, save for the occasional braying of the thestral pulling the carriage along, and for a while he was mesmerized by the pulling of its sinewy leg and back muscles, by the way its resting wings shifted as it walked. Then they rounded on the castle and a jolt went through his body. He was sure there was a name for whatever he was feeling, but he was even more sure that he didn't want to figure it out.

The carriage came to a stop a several meters away from the front steps and as he climbed out one of the two heavy front doors of the school pulled open and out stepped a great figure that could be no one else but Hagrid.

"Bloody brilliant," he muttered disdainfully, then prepared himself for a evening of biting his tongue and trying his best to stay professional.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit i'm sorry it's been a minute guys. i got a job at a restaurant that's just opened up so it's been a crazy two weeks of training and non-stop shifts. but i'm getting into a routine now so we should be back on schedule soon :) anyway, i hope y'all liked this chapter. george was so fun to write!
> 
> i plan on posting the next chapter next week to make up for the long absence, so please read and review!! love yall!!


	10. I'll Thank You When the Job is Done

"Yer about the last person I'd expect to see doin' this sort of thing," Hagrid greeted, his voice just as gruff as Draco remembered. Though it wasn't exactly an overly genial greeting, there was, however forced, a small hint of friendliness in his words, which Draco did not expect at all.

"Well, sir, I suppose that's why Granger asked me to do it in the first place," Draco replied in the same tone. As expected, there was a small flash of joy in Hagrid's eyes at being called sir. _That was too easy_ , Draco thought.

"Let's get you inside, then," Hagrid said, the friendly note in his voice coming just a tad easier. Draco followed his oversized shadow into the castle, the door closing with a thud behind them. Next to them, the doors to the Great Hall stood open and a sea of noise flooded over them; children talking, laughing, and silverware clanging and scraping on plates. "Dinner's already started," Hagrid explained, even though Draco could clearly see that, "but the kids 'ave got their own spread at the meetin'."

Hagrid led him away from the Great Hall and up the first flight of stairs. "'Ere we are," he said, stopping in front of classroom door. "Good luck." He gave a small laugh and left, heading back downstairs. On the other side of the door Draco could hear the students talking amongst themselves. That all stopped when he opened the door, and when he stepped through their full attention was on him.

The children were strewn about the room, some sitting at the tables properly, others sitting on the table with their feet in their chairs, and still others leaning on the wall or just standing around. There were sandwiches laid out on one of the far tables, along with a few drinks, side dishes, and sweets, and some of the students already had plates fixed in front of them.

"You're not Hermione Granger!" one of the younger students, a boy in Ravenclaw robes and no older than a fourth year, accused, breaking the silence.

"Obviously," he replied, then cleared his throat. "I'm—"

"Draco _Malfoy_ ," cut in a older girl, a surprised and impressed drawl to her voice. She had dark hair and a Slytherin tie and was looking at him half amused and like she was formulating some sort of scheme.

"Who?!" chirped a small girl in Hufflepuff robes. An awkward silence filled the room as no one answered her. Someone gave a small cough, someone else moved and their chair scraped on the stone floor.

"Jessie's muggleborn," the dark haired Slytherin explained, making intense eye contact with him and giving a smirk like the two of them were sharing a secret. "She doesn't _know_."

"Oh shut up, Avery," came a deeper voice, full of a distinct Gryffindor bravado. In the back an older student with a loosened maroon tie slouched in his chair. "That stuff doesn't matter anymore, anyway," he added.

"Lance _, how_ could you say that?" a older Ravenclaw girl across the room exclaimed. The Gryffindor boy, Lance, glared at her and opened his mouth to retort. Draco knew then that he had to finally step in. Salazar help him if a fight broke out on his first day.

"If you're all _quite_ finished," he snapped. He hadn't intended to channel his old professor and mentor, in fact he hadn't thought about how he was going to address the children at all, but there he was, scowling at them with a bored yet scathing tone in his voice that frightened them into silence, controlling the room much in the same way Snape once had. Well, he'd frightened _most_ of them; Avery was still smiling at him with her hand in her palm, quite like how George had mocked him earlier, only she was genuine. "Miss Granger couldn't make it today, so she sent me in her stead. You _will_ afford me the same respect lest you find yourself off of the committee and knee deep in negative house points. Do I make myself clear?"

Silence filled the air as they all simply nodded. Avery bit her lip.

"Good," Draco said, actively avoiding Avery's uncomfortably flirtatious gaze. He turned to face the blackboard and drew his wand from his pocket, levitating the calk in the air a poising it to write. "Now, what is the first thing we have to do?"

More silence. He sighed inwardly and turned back around. "No one?"

The young Hufflepuff, Jessie, meekly raised her hand. He nodded at her. "Come up with a theme?"

"All right," he said, charming the chalk to write on the board. "Any ideas for a theme?" He was met with more silence. "Surely young Jessie isn't the only one brave enough to speak?" he drawled, not turning to face them.

"April showers," Lance called.

"A _rain_ theme?" scoffed the same Ravenclaw girl who challenged him before. "That's stupid."

"Shove it, Vera."

Draco cleared his throat and the bickering ceased. The chalk scribbled _April Showers_ onto the board. It took some time but eventually they developed a groove and before long they had a substantial list of themes, on which they took a vote.

"Who's going to tally the winner?" Draco asked, standing beside the conjured bowl they used to put their votes in. A boy in the back raised his hand but Avery jumped up before Draco could call on him. She sauntered over to him and stood next to him, much too close for his liking. He stepped back and away, but it didn't seem to phase her. In a way, she reminded him of what Pansy and Daphne were like at that age; they too would have had no trouble or shame in trying to flirt with an older authority figure, if only just to watch him squirm.

Avery read each vote, occasionally glancing back at him with a smile. He tried his best to keep his face neutral so that she could see she wasn't getting to him one way or the other. The last time she looked back, she frowned and rolled her eyes.

"The winner is _Woodland Creatures_ ," she said unceremoniously, and dropped the final bit of parchment back into the bowl before sulking off back to her chair.

"Good. Now that that's settled, what's next?"

"Mr. Malfoy, we only have fifteen minutes left in the meeting," Vera informed.

Jarred, Draco took his watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. They'd just spent nearly an hour bickering over the theme of the dance. _Just_ the theme. His fist clenched around the gold piece. This was going to take a lot longer than he wanted.

"Well I think we should at least pick the band," Avery scoffed, looking at her nails as if she were now entirely uninterested in the whole affair.

"Give it up, Avery," a Gryffindor girl, Katherine, started, "The Unforgivables aren't going to play at some dumb school dance."

The name struck a chord with Draco. There was, of course, the obvious reasons. He'd been forced to use the unforgivable curses more than he'd ever admit, but he also recognized it as a band's name. He just couldn't place where.

"Um, they _would_ if their bassist went here!" Avery retorted.

"Katherine's right," Lance chimed, "Pucey hates this place, he's said so in plenty of interviews!"

Then it clicked and Draco smiled. "Silence," he snapped. They all gave him their attention. "If I get The Unforgivables to play the dance, could you all manage to plan the rest of it with minimal involvement from me?"

They all looked around, exchanging glances with each other before breaking into laughter. "Yeah, sure," Vera scoffed, as if she knew he couldn't do it. Their laughter quickly died down when they saw that his face hadn't wavered.

"That's it for today, then," he said sharply. "I'll be in touch with your correspondence officer, which is…?"

Avery smirked and raised her hand halfway in the air, wiggling her fingers.

"Wonderful," Draco mumbled. He tucked his wand back into place and grabbed his cloak. "Continue to plan, as I'm sure you all know how to do. I want menus and decoration designs upon my return." He turned and tried to leave the room at a steady pace, not wanting to let on about how anxious he was to leave.

"He's not going to get them," Draco heard Katherine say. "Pucey won't come back here, and you _know_ why."

"All I know," Avery started, "is that if Draco fucking Malfoy can come back, then Adrian Pucey should have no problem with it."

Draco tightened his cloak and quickened his pace. So then the children, at least the older ones, knew _exactly_ what he'd done. They were in their first or second years while he was in his sixth. Avery seemed to have known the most, and yet she was still infatuated with him. He knew all too well the home life that could only entailed, a life in which the deeds of people like him were commended and spoken highly of. That poor girl.

He rounded the corner only to come face to face with Professor McGonagall. No, _Headmistress_ McGonagall.

"Mr. Malfoy," she greeted, her voice not betraying her opinions of him one way or the other. "I was just coming to retrieve you. I thought perhaps you might prefer the floo in my office over the train."

Even if he didn't already know better than to argue with her, he'd have been too exhausted to try. He simply nodded, also knowing better than to put up a false face with McGonagall. She'd see through him in half a heartbeat, and she definitely wouldn't put up with it. She led him through the castle and to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to her office.

"Finbourgh Flick," she said, and the gargoyle jumped aside to reveal the moving staircase. Draco glanced up at her, but she gave no knowing glance or smile over the fact that she uses Quidditch moves as passwords. The staircase brought them to her office and she pushed open the door. "The floo powder is on the mantle," she instructed.

Draco thanked her and grabbed a handful, then stepped into the fireplace.

 

* * *

 

 

_Miss Granger_

_My name is Jessie Edgewater, I am a first year Hufflepuff and on your School Events Committee. Headmistress McGonagall has asked me to write to you and keep you updated on how things are going._

_We had our first meeting tonight and it was very interesting. We came up with a theme (woodland creatures, which I think will be very cute) and that's about it. Some of the older kids spent a lot of time arguing so we didn't get much else done._

_Mr. Malfoy was a little stern but he kind of had to be, what with Avery trying to flirt with him and Lance and Vera constantly bickering. But he was fair, so that was nice. Overall I liked him, and I think this dance will be a hit._

_He did promise us that he would get The Unforgivables to play though. They're a really big band, and I really don't think they'll come and play a lame school dance. I guess we'll see._

_That's it for now! I will write again after our next meeting._

_All the best,  
Jessie_

Hermione had to laugh. For one thing, Jessie seemed adorable; for another, she could only imagine Draco trying to control a room full of bickering students while fending off a teenage girl's misplaced affections.

Her office door opened and she expected Malfoy, stopping by to fill her in on his meeting with the children, but it was Harry who appeared. She doubled checked her clock to confirm that it was, in fact, not even eight am. So what, then, was Harry, who was as reliably late as she was early, doing at her office? He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and she saw that he did still look half asleep. She also saw that he was holding something behind his back.

"Morning Harry," she said, cautiously.

He scratched the back of his head. "You, uh, haven't seen _The Prophet_ this morning, have you?"

She stood slowly, leveling her gaze at him. "No," she said, trying not to panic. There was still a chance that he was just messing with her, and that it was good news. She rounded the desk and walked over to him, trying to peek around him. "Why?"

"Now, it's not _that_ bad," he said, side stepping her.

"Harry," she said, her voice low and her temper now barely contained. She held out her hand and he sighed and put the paper he'd been hiding in her hand. Harry tucked a hand under his arm and rest his lips on the other as he watched her scan the headline.

" _Death eater freed and_ communing _with your_ children!" Hermione read aloud, each word more incredulous and strained than the last. Then she saw the byline. _Rita Skeeter._ She looked up at Harry and swatted the paper at him. "How is this not that bad?!" Harry flinched and took a small step back, but didn't respond.

Hermione scrambled to turn the page over and read the article. " _Nearly a month ago, marked Death Eater and sole heir to the Malfoy millions, Draco Malfoy, was apparently quietly released from prison with well over a year left on his sentence. While one has to wonder how he managed this and who he paid off to keep it from the papers, that's not the disturbing part._ "

Her voice caught in her throat. Obviously she knew first hand what a scathing, flat out liar Skeeter could be, but she also knew what Malfoy could be like and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd really bribed his way out of his sentence. She took a breath and skimmed through the next few lines. " _A brief yet candid chat with the morally questionable Pureblood Prince—_ " she picked up, her and Harry exchanging grimaces at the title she'd given him, "— _revealed that he is currently under the employ of The Creevey Foundation, an advocacy group run by none other than Muggleborn War Hero Hermione Granger, but that's not the shocking part._ "

Hermione rolled her eyes. "She's so ridiculous," she muttered, and straightened the paper. She read silently through the next part, a biting bit questioning the integrity of The Foundation, and tried to keep from screaming when it ended with, "— _but that's not the appalling part._ "

" _It seems as though Miss Granger's bleeding heart has finally eclipsed her logical mind, as she has assigned the Marked and manipulative, shifty Slytherin to head one of the many Hogwarts School clubs she herself helped to create. How she, or Headmistress McGonagall for that matter, could hand children over to the control of a convicted felon is beyond comprehension._ "

"Is she paid by the word or something?" Hermione slapped the paper onto her desk and ran a hand over her hair. Harry was looking at her like he was afraid she would burst.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

She held her hands up. "There's nothing to do. The best way to deal with Skeeter is to ignore her."

"I meant about Malfoy?" Harry urged, stepping closer to her.

"What about him?"

"What if he did buy his way out of Azkaban?"

"Harry, you don't believe that." She held his stare, challenging him.

"Don't you? You know he's _more_ than capable."

"And I also know Skeeter is more than capable of lying through her damn teeth. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt. I _have_ to."

Harry shook his head. "Well I'm still going to look into it. I know he's up to something."

She threw her hands in the air and let them fall to her sides with a slap. "And here I was thinking all the time-turners were gone. What are we, sixteen again? I can't believe we're still having this fight."

There was a knock at the door but before she could respond it opened. "Granger," Malfoy said, announcing his presence. She glanced at the clock on the wall, it was exactly eight am. Of course. She'd instructed him to come by after his first meeting and update her on his progress, telling him to stop by whenever he could as there was no rush. But of course he shows up at exactly eight am the very next day.

"Malfoy," she greeted, not even attempting to mask her aggravation.

"Oh what now?" he groaned, stepping fully into the office. He missed a beat when he saw Harry in the room with her. "Potter," he greeted dully.

Harry didn't respond. He looked to Hermione. "I'll see you later," he grumbled, then pushed past the both of them.

"What was that all about?" he asked, casually handing her a small coffee. On another day Hermione might have made a cheeky comment about it becoming a habit, but instead she returned to her side of the desk.

"You don't read _The Prophet_?" She pushed the article toward him, taking a sip of the coffee.

"Not unless I have to," he said slowly, eyeing her while reaching for the paper. He set his own cup down as he picked up the paper and read it to himself. "Pureblood Prince?" he spat, fully offended. She watched his eyes dart back and forth as he kept reading. "This is such shit," he said, lowering it to look at her. "Granger, I—"

"What did she mean by brief yet candid chat? You going around doing interviews now?"

"Funny," he snapped, glaring at her for a moment before pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought. A moment later his eyes popped open. "That old hag on the train."

"What?"

She listened as he explained, watching him carefully for any hint of a lie, or even a side truth. He was entirely compliant while telling the story, and answered her questioned patiently and even a little humbly. That changed, though, when she asked about Azkaban. His eyes seemed to darken and his face hardened, and she found herself making a mental note of where her wand was.

"I may have paid _The Prophet_ to keep my face off the front page but aside from doing everything I was supposed to do exactly how I was supposed to do it, I had nothing to do with my release." His voice was low and sharp and frighteningly contained.

"I had to ask," she said, much quieter than she'd intended.

His eyes narrowed, still holding her gaze. "I guess you haven't truly forgiven me then, have you?"

A chill ran through her. If she were honest with herself, no, she hadn't truly forgiven him. Of course he hadn't. All she'd really done was write him a letter, and fool herself into moving on. "I had to ask," she repeated, as definite as she'd meant to the first time.

There was a tense moment before he relented. "I believe you wanted an update," he drawled. She nodded and they both sat down on either side of the desk. He quickly filled her in on the status of the raffle, and on what was accomplished during his first meeting.

"And apparently you've promised them a particularly popular rock band?" she asked, and took his silence as a yes. "You really shouldn't promise kids things like that."

"I have a friend that owes me a favor." He responded casually, sipping his own coffee.

"Still though, you can never be too sure."

"It's a big favor." There was an edge to his voice that made Hermione not want to push the topic any further.

"Anyway," she started shuffling around the parchments on her desk, gathering up some strays and stacking them together, tapping them on the desk, generally avoiding eye contact with the man in front of her. "I never did thank you, for taking all of this on." Maybe she felt guilty, or maybe she just wanted to move on from the argument they'd had. Either way, she wasn't really sure why she'd said it.

He let out an indignant hum. "I didn't really have much of a choice, now did I?"

Instead of answering him, Hermione gave a little shrug. There was a moment of silence, save for the papers she was still busying herself with.

Draco cleared his throat. "You still haven't."

"Haven't what?"

"Thanked me."

She glared at him over the papers. "I'll thank you when the job is done." Draco held up a conciliatory hand and took another sip of his coffee. "I should go," he said and stood to leave.

"Just a moment," Hermione said, opening the top drawer of her desk. She pulled out a small bunch of muggle papers, the words _Lupin's Law_ scrawled across the top, and made her way over to him. "Your additions to the treatment of creatures law were actually," she couldn't believe she was about to say this, "quite helpful. I'd like you to go over this." After a pause, in which she told herself one last time that this was a good idea, she handed him the pages. "In your own time, of course, between planning the dance."

He nodded, taking the law without even looking at it. She stopped herself from reaching out and taking them back. "Anything else?" he asked, his voice flat.

"Oh, yes. Do you have a date for the dance?"

His mouth twitched and his eyebrows dipped. He was obviously confused. "I— I—"

"Well, I supposed you don't really need one… It's just, chaperoning can be dull when you're alone, so I was going to suggest you find one." His features relaxed and it hit her. "Oh," she chuckled, "you didn't know you had to chaperone, did you? I'm sorry, I should have told you. I didn't—"

He held up a hand. "It's quite all right," he snapped. He almost looked relieved. "I'll have no trouble finding a date. If that's all, I really should be going."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick update, as promised. and it's hella long sooooooo ;D i'm about halfway done with chapter 12, and i hope to have it finished by the end of next week so i'm thinking there will be at least two more updates this month. i'm telling y'all this bc i'm hoping it keeps me on the grind haha. there's lots of fun stuff coming up! chapter 12 will be the dance (so it will probably be a really long chapter!), then we'll have some drunken bonding, an 80s throwback night, pick up quidditch games, some (mostly) friendly magical sparring, the stray slytherins will return soon and we'll get to see what they've been up to, just a lot of cheesy good times, as well as some tense, serious moments that need to happen. i really just wanted to let y'all know that i have a lot planned out for this, in the event that work wears me out and i have to take a little break. 
> 
> oh, hey, also!!!! you guys can totally request/suggest any of your favorite fun tropes! maybe something will spark a scene for the story and i'll work it in! that would be fun and interactive :)
> 
> anyway, big thank yous to all of you guys who keep coming back and reviewing!! your support means so much to me and i look forward to reading all of your reviews (sometimes i read them at work and they really help boost my mood, haha) and a giant welcome to anyone just catching up. i really hope you like it, and please feel free to drop me a line and lmk what you think. <333333


	11. I Vote Chocolate Fountain

Finding people, even apparent 'rockstars', was not difficult when you were a man of means. It took Draco less than a day to find Adrian, and he didn't even have to leave his study. With just a few quick owls he discovered that The Unforgivables were in the process of recording their first full length album, and there were only so many studios in the wizarding world.

By nightfall, Draco was in Northern Ireland waiting across the street from a small and unassuming little shop, one that the muggles just walked right by. He didn't have to wait long before a string of grungy, darkly dressed people came streaming out of the front door; a dark witch with an arm full of moving pictures on her arm and blue dreadlocks down her back; a tall, lanky wizard with a face full of metal and stringy blonde hair that reached his shoulders, another wizard, white skinned with both tattoos and piercings, and, finally, Adrian Pucey, with the same fair skin and angular eyes Draco remembered, but his dark hair was now spiked up and streaked with green.

Draco stepped forward, into the light of the streetlamp, and waited. Moments later Adrian spotted him and waved his friends off.

"I'll catch up with you guys," Draco heard him say. Adrian palmed a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one, biding time until his friends turned the corner at the end of the block. "What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked as he crossed the street.

Draco took a few seconds to look him over; barely laced heavy black boots, thin black trousers that were ripped at the knees, a graphic tank top under a leather jacket, and a chain necklace around his neck. He gave a calculated smirk. "This is all a bit cliche, don't you think?"

"Comes with the territory," Adrian snapped. He shifted his weight, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching them. "You didn't come all this way to make fun of my wardrobe. What's this all about?"

Draco smiled, he enjoyed seeing him so nervous. "All this way is right. What are you in Ireland for?"

Adrian sighed, resigning to the fact that Draco was the one asking questions and getting answers. He took a drag. "We've rented a house in the country. It's quiet, makes it easier to write."

"How quaint," Draco mocked. He tilted his head, just the slightest bit, and watched Adrian squirm for just a moment more before clearing his face of any emotion. "I need a favor."

Adrian tensed, he shook his head and took another drag. "Now's not really a good time."

"I'm sorry," Draco started, giving Adrian a second to think he actually cared, "you seem to be under the impression that I was asking." He saw Adrian's chest rising and falling, more than before. "You and your band are going to play a show for me," he said slowly, deliberately.

Adrian's arm froze halfway in the air. "I— what?"

Draco blinked.

"No." He flicked the cigarette to the ground. "No way, mate! Leave them out of… whatever this is you're doing here."

"Funny," Draco mused, "I don't recall being nearly half as obstinate while I was staying clear of your name during my trial." He leveled his gaze at Adrian, biting back a smile when his face drained of colour.

"You bastard," he spat. "You know I didn't do anything. Merlin's sake, I'm not even—" He stopped when he realized he was almost yelling, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I'm not even marked!"

"Ah yes, but I do remember seeing your face around the Manor more than once, and I'm quite sure the Dark Lord even knew your name. That's really all The Ministry would have needed to hear in order to lock you away."

Adrian looked like he was two seconds away from murdering Draco. "Fuck you," he growled, then sighed and averted his eyes. "Fuck you," he repeated, though now he sounded defeated. "We're already on such a tight schedule, I don't know if I can talk them into this."

"I'm sure you can get creative." Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a small slip of folded parchment and held it out between his first two fingers. "Time and place," he explained.

He looked from the parchment to Draco and seemed to gain one last surge of animosity. "And if I refuse?" he spat.

Draco didn't flinch, and he didn't break eye contact. "I guess you'll have to try it and find out."

Adrian ran a hand over his face before snatching the parchment out of Draco's hands. "Hogwarts?" The word fell out of his mouth like he didn't know what it meant, and he looked back to Draco, who gave a casual shrug.

"It should make for an interesting homecoming." His hand wrapped around his wand and without pulling it from its holster he disapparated.

* * *

 

Moonlight streamed in through the wide, two-story industrial windows on Hermione's right, flooding the brick loft in a soft, milky blue light that she quite enjoyed. She yawned and stretched, pulling at the muscles in her arms and legs, her back and neck, as much as she could before relaxing them and letting her body sink into the mattress. Anthony's bed was larger than hers, and much softer, and was so comfortable that she was a little reluctant to leave it.

But he had work to do, and so did she, so with a sigh she sat up and put her feet on the floor, her eyes scanning for her top. She spotted it on the other side of the end table. "Can I ask you something?" she yelled, pulling her shirt over her head, using her arm to remove her hair from the collar.

Anthony was downstairs in the kitchen, almost directly below her putting on a pot of tea. "Shoot!" he responded, his voice only a notch louder than usual, yet she heard him loud and clear. He'd knew all of the sweet spots in the flat so that he could take advantage of the acoustics. She still had to yell.

She stood and started adjusting the sheets and the duvet, folding the latter down at the top and fluffing all two of his pillows. "It's absolutely okay if you say no!" she amended, looking around for her bra and jeans. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel obligated, as he most certainly was not.

"Okay then.  _No_!" he replied, snark abundant in his voice.

Chuckling, she grabbed her clothes and headed for the iron spiral staircase. "I mean it, you really don't have to if you don't want to." She hit the bottom of the stairs and padded into the kitchen, scratching his Dalmatian behind the ears as she passed by her.

Anthony turned around, two cups in hand and a dramatically exasperated look on his face. "Hermione,  _please_ ," he scolded.

She pulled out a stool and sat at the island bar while he stood across from her and handed her a mug. "Would it be too weird if you were my date to the school dance?"

He rested his elbows on the counter and sipped his tea, giving the question an honest thought. "No," he finally said, as sure of his answer as if she'd just given him an easy arithmancy problem. "I don't think it would be too weird. Marginally weird? Sure. But  _too_  weird?" He made a cocky face and shook his head. "When is it?"

Hermione swallowed. "Saturday next."

"I might be on call, but I don't think it'll be a problem. It might even be fun." He gave her a cheeky smile over his cup and she rolled her eyes.

"Thank you." She took another sip. "You'll probably have to meet me there, as I'll have to be early for preparations."

He nodded and for a few minutes the two of them sat quietly drinking their tea; Hermione with her brown legs bare and Anthony with his shirtless white chest and arms, their relationship so far a perfect balance of friendship and sex, the whole scene a perfect picture of yin and yang.

A high pitched whine emitted from the floor next to them. "Doris, we don't have any food up here!" Anthony said sternly. He peeked over the edge of the counter and locked eyes with his great spotted pup. "Go on, go lay down."

Hermione gave a small laugh. "I still can't get over the name Doris," she mumbled into her cup.

"It's my great gran's name," he defended.

"And…" she prodded.

He sighed. "It starts with 'D' and I was going for the alliteration," he confessed.

"There we go!"

"Cheeky," he scoffed, and she smiled proudly. He spotted the clock then, and nearly spilled his tea. "Shit, it's nine already!" Grabbing his wand from the counter behind him, he summoned his Healer's robes and turned towards the sink. He washed his hands and arms, then ran wet fingers through his hair.

Hermione scrunched her face. "You should take a  _real_ shower."

"I can shower when I get there. Could you do me a favor and walk Doris? Lock up when you leave?"

"Yeah, of course," Hermione agreed. She hopped off of the stool and collected their cups as his robes floated into the kitchen. He changed as he walked.

"You don't have to do that," he said, checking over his Healer's kit by the door.

"It's no big deal," she shrugged, rinsing the cups out and putting them in the drying rack.

He stopped for a moment and gave her a stark glare. "You've already made my bed, haven't you?"

"You're going to be late," she chided, leaning against the counter.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Thank you," he said, nodding at Doris, who was flushed with excitement over all the sudden motion. "And be careful, she likes to take the lead," he added, then stepped into the floo and was gone.

Hermione wiped down the counter and put the kettle away before putting on the rest of her clothes. Hands on her slightly bent knees, she looked at Doris. "You wanna go for a walk?" she asked, her voice high and excited. Doris barked and lunged playfully at her, nearly taking her out.

* * *

 

Draco stood at the head of the class, arms folded and face neutral. If there had been any fallout from Skeeter's scathing article, he hadn't heard about it. He imagined if Granger had gotten any flack for it, she'd have been too proud say anything. And if McGonagall had received any nasty owls, well he figured she wouldn't have put up with it, nor thought it worth mentioning.

He gave the students just a few more seconds to indulge their incessant chattering and goings-on. "Need I remind you," he started, and though they hardly noticed he kept going, "that I can  _cancel The Unforgivables!_ " that got their attention, "—with a single owl."

Silently, they faced the proper direction, climbed off of the tables and lowered themselves into their seats. "Thank you," he snapped. He took a breath, this still gave him the worst headache. "The dance is this weekend, so it's the last time we'll meet like this. The next time I see you, decorations will be going up and food will be out, so we're going to go over everything one last time. Any volunteers?"

A hand shot up in the back of the room and Vera stood up, Muggle notebook in hand. Draco stepped aside, giving her the floor. "Well, we sold every single raffle ticket, so before we leave we should draw the winners so that Headmistress McGonagall can make the announcement at dinner." She turned to look at Draco, apprehension in her face. "Have you… secured the transportation?"

He nodded. "Students will ride into Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon, those who have won something there will collect it and return to the castle, the rest will floo from The Three Broomsticks directly to The Leaky and collect their prizes from the shops there."

"How much did we raise?" Katherine asked, and Vera scanned her notes.

"Over two hundred and seventy Galleons," she said, pushing her glasses up her nose. The class clapped.

"That's the most we've ever done," Lance commented.

Avery crossed her legs and smiled at Draco. "Well the prizes were really good this year, weren't they Mr. Malfoy."

Draco massaged one of his temples. "Avery, I thought we moved past this." But she just shrugged and kept smiling, her Oxford clad foot bouncing beneath her desk. He sighed. "Who's next," he grumbled. Jessie jumped up and he sighed with relief.

"Um," she started, her voice low and quite. She cleared her throat and started again, this time more self-assured. "The menu is all set, except for the desserts. We need to get a final vote on that to the House Elves." She startled as the class erupted in an argument, the same argument they'd had since they began talking about food two weeks prior.

"I still vote chocolate fountain," Lance thundered, crossing him arms.

"Lance, if we get a chocolate fountain I'm going to shove your head into it," Vera threatened.

He just laughed. "Promise?"

Vera looked about ready lunge across the room at him. Draco cleared his throat. "Enough," he commanded and they all fell silent. He looked to Jessie, his tone a little softer. "Tell the Elves to go with the assorted biscuits and tarts, decorate thematically if you wish." She nodded and returned to her desk.

"Are all of the decorations planned out? Or are we still fighting over those, too?" He looked around, and Katherine stood up in the back.

"There are a few things left but we can figure them out on our own," she said carefully.

"Good. Anything else?" The room was quiet. "Alright then, Miss Granger and I will be back Saturday afternoon, do try to refrain from cursing each other to bits in the meantime." He finished speaking, but no one moved. "Leave," he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and pointed to the door, and they all scurried out, slamming the door behind him. He let out a breath, his patience totally shot.

"You looked stressed. I've been told I give an amazing massage."

In a flash he'd pulled out his wand and aimed it at the door, sending it flying open and slamming into the wall behind it. "Ten points from Slytherin!" he snapped, nearly at a yell. He finally looked up at Avery, her eyes were wide with shock. He'd genuinely startled her and she looked very much like the child she was. "Twenty if you keep lingering," he added, still glaring at her but using a slightly softer voice. Her face hardened and she stormed out, her stomps echoing through the hall. He waited until they were completely gone before heading for McGonagall's office.

"I am so sorry," he said as soon as she opened her door.

Her lips pursed. "Whatever for?" She left the door open for him and turned to return to her desk.

"For ever having been a teenager," he replied, shutting the door behind him. And then, she laughed. She actually laughed. It was a small one, barely a chuckle, but Minerva McGonagall had actually laughed and he'd been the cause. He smiled a little to himself and grabbed a handful of floo powder. "I'll return Saturday," he said.

"Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy," she said, the same as she had every other time, only slightly less severe.

* * *

 

"Have you got everything?" Granger asked, rushing across her office to rifle through the drawers at Dennis' desk. Draco followed her movements with his eyes, making sure to keep his distance from the frantic tornado of stress she was creating. It was Saturday afternoon, the day of the dance, and she'd been running around her office for more than a few chaotic minutes.

"Yes," he drawled, he'd given Dennis his things just an hour earlier. She looked up from the desk, eyes narrowed.

"Your dress robes, have you to got your dress robes? Because I can have Dennis bring them out with mine if you—"

"Granger, I have  _my_ things together," he assured, "you, however, seem…" She glared at him and he refrained from finishing his sentence.

"I can't find my wand," she said, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I've looked everywhere." She straightened up put her hands on her hips, looking around room in defeat.

He tried not to laugh, and instead cleared his throat to draw her attention. He looked up, eyeing the disaster that was her hair. Slowly, her hand went up and she patted her head, letting out a breath of relief when her fingers hit her wand. "Not a word," she warned, wagging her wand at him. "Let's go." With a flick of her wand the room darkened as she reached for the door.

"You're not going to fix your hair?" he asked, taking the door behind her. She whipped around, almost hitting him with her hair, and glared at him. He couldn't hold back his laugh this time, but he did manage to silence it. He thought he might have seen the corner of her mouth twitch, but she turned back around too quickly.

They used a Ministry floo and moments later were in McGonagall's empty office. Hermione headed straight for the door, but he took a second to look around. He'd been to cautious to do so when while McGonagall was there, but now that it was empty... In the back he spotted two empty portraits, one with a twinkling blue background, the other with a dark grey one that grew darker on the edges. He wondered where either of them were, but only for a moment before he heard Granger opening the door.

"Did I tell you that I made her laugh?" he asked, following her into the hall.

"No you didn't." She brushed him off, concentrating on the moving stone staircase. He frowned and followed her.

There were a few small groups of students scattered throughout the castle and as they briskly navigated their way around, most whispered behind their hands, some waved shyly to Granger, and some even stopped her to say hello and gush about this thing or that. It annoyed him to no end but to Granger's credit she took it all in a humble stride.

"There you two are," McGonagall huffed as they came to a central area in the castle. "An argument has erupted over the table decor and it is your—"

Draco stepped forward. "I'll take care of it, Headmistress."

She eyed him severely for a moment, giving him a look that somehow conveyed an irritation for interrupting her and a gratefulness for stepping in at the same time. "Very well," she finally said, turning sharply to leave.

"I'll check in on them," Hermione said, starting to walk ahead of him. The assumption in her voice struck a chord with him. It was like she'd just written him off, thinking him incapable of performing his job. He grabbed her by the arm and she stopped, turning around with an admonishing glare.

"I'll take care of it," he repeated, stressing each word. He let go of her arm. "You go check in on the Elves, see that they've stuck to the menu."

She looked, for a moment, like she was going to argue but then seemed to decide against it. "McGonagall's set up an empty classroom for the band to use, across from the old Defense Against the Dark Arts room."

"Noted."

She bit on her lip for a second, still not sure if she should go or not, so he raised an eyebrow and she huffed and left. He turned and faced the doors to the Great Hall, taking a breath to clear that problem from his head before dealing with the one in the hall.

He pushed open the doors just in time to see Vera and Lance squaring off, wands at their sides. He took a breath and prepared his voice. "It's still not too late to cancel the band!"

Silence fell, and then a chair scraped against the stone floor as someone slowly sat down. Draco gave the silence another few moments to sink it. "Jessie," he said, turning to the small girl who'd been sitting just outside of his peripherals. "What's going on?"

Jessie looked around to Katherine and another Gryffindor girl. "Um, Katherine wants to sort the centerpieces like that," she pointed to a table near her, "but Sherry wanted to arrange them like that." She pointed to a different table and Draco saw that the centerpieces were both nearly identical, having only one varying component. He looked between the two girls, brow dipping above his nose.

"Are you serious?" The girls averted their eyes. "Y-you're serious? You drove the Headmistress out of here arguing over the arrangement of the centerpieces? Meanwhile the walls are bare and the stage isn't even set up." Katherine scuffed the ground with her shoe while Sherry played with the hem of her shirt. Draco sighed. "Five points each from Gryffindor, and split up the tables for Merlin's sake."

The girls nodded, but nobody actually moved. "There's only a few hours left, children. What are we doing?"

There was a sudden shuffle of motion as everyone scrambled to find something to do. Katherine and Sherry each took alternate tables to fix their centerpieces to. They both had small woodland vignettes, each one with a small tree situated in the center of a base made to look like a circle of grass speckled with wildflowers. Katherine's featured a fake, mini squirrel, charmed to hunt for nuts on it's own base. Sherry's had a similar fox, charmed to sleep next to the tree, occasionally his tail would switch and he'd get up and stretch before circling in his spot and going back to sleep. It was impressive charmwork, really, Draco just wished he hadn't had to mediate a pointless fight to see the final project.

In the center of the room Lance stood, directing the traffic of other students who were moving tables and chairsa round, sketch in hand of how it was all supposed to be laid out. Other students were at the walls, working on adding vines to the columns and charming little lights to fly around like firebugs. Draco's job was mostly supervision, but every now and then one of them would need a little extra help and he'd have to step in.

He'd nearly lost track of time when heard a familiar voice at the doors. "You've got to be  _shitting_ me," Adrian laughed.

Draco spun around and leveled a warning stare at him. A few students noticed who'd just stepped into their Great Hall and a whisper spread throughout the room. "You still have work to do," Draco snapped over his shoulder, and headed toward Adrian. Turning him by the arm, Draco pulled him out of the hall and shut the door with a swish of his wand.

"All those threats and you wanted me to play a flowery school dance?" Adrian asked, snatching his arm back.

"I don't want you to play,  _they_ do." He jerked a finger towards the Great Hall doors.

Adrian gave a cocky little chuckle and wagged his finger. "You say that but—" he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded page of newspaper "—this article would lead me to believe otherwise." He tapped the paper to his chin. "I spent over a week trying to figure out why you wanted me to play at Hogwarts of all places, and I just couldn't figure it out. Then I finally check back into civilization and find this, and it all fell into place."

Draco's body was so tense his muscles were starting to burn. "That article is—"

"Rubbish, yes I know. But the fact that you are working for  _Hermione Granger_ , that was the interesting part. And, of course knowing you, I had to wonder at your motives."

He spoke through his teeth. "My motives are—"

"Terribly transparent, and all too easy to leverage against you."

Draco's fingers twitched, itching to reach for his wand and be done with this whole conversation. Just as he was about to reach for it he heard one of the kids in the Great Hall laugh and knew that he couldn't. He saw in Adrian's smile that he knew that as well.

Adrian's eyes darkened and he stepped closer to speak lower. "The subterfuge and psychological games were never my favorite part of Slytherin. I left it all behind as soon as I could. But if you're  _determined_ to drag me back into it, well then I've got no choice but to win." He gave Draco a double pat on the shoulder and walked away to meet with his bandmates who were just coming in. "I'll summon an elf to show us to our room," he called over his shoulder.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh i'm so horrible i'm sorry. i thought i'd posted this and i hadn't and i'm so sorry! i'm also sorry it's been a minute, work has been crazy and i've been promoted rather quickly so that's added to the craziness and yeah. it's been hectic. but i've got about half of 12 done, so hopefully that'll be out soon too. anyway i hope you like it, please lmk what you think!


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